A Terrible Resolve
by Longclaw 1-6
Summary: The Night King is defeated. Jon heads south to secure the throne for Daenerys. His love... and his family. A revelation that shattered his world. But when Dany is in danger from a bitter Cersei and a scheming Euron, Jon is forced to become who he was born to be. A Dragonlord... heir to the Iron Throne, and save the woman he loves. Jonerys. Season 8 fix.
1. Ch 1: A Dragon's Fear

**A/N: Greetings everybody. Most of y'all probably know me as the author of An Empire of Ice and Fire - plus the co-author of Heart of the Blessed. Now that the former is getting close to the end, I'm coming out with a new idea that has rapidly taken on a life of its own, lol.**

**Lots of season 8 fix-it fics out there. Not only is this story my version, it also serves as the prequel to a post-canon fic that I've discussed before in Empire and HotB. It will be set in episode 4 "Last of the Starks" (terrible episode, but one I hope to fix), though I reserve the right to make changes to the episodes before that will become evident in flashbacks.**

**The title is based off of the famous quote by Admiral Yamamoto after Pearl Harbor.**

**I hope everyone likes. Be sure to review, follow, and fav with your thoughts :D**

_"__I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping [dragon] and fill him with a terrible resolve."_

**A Terrible Resolve**

**A story by Longclaw 1-6**

It had been a moonless night. A bad omen, especially in the superstitious North. He hadn't thought so of the night he made his great promise - quite the opposite actually. At the time, it seemed as if all the latent and buried dreams of his had come true.

But the gods had their final laugh. It had only taken some time for his great promise to come back to haunt him…

_All propriety had left them. They had begun their coupling worried about decorum, about privacy, but halfway through it all such thoughts flew out of the porthole of the gently rocking ship. Pleasure too great, the woman pinned deliciously underneath him was becoming unglued in her ecstasy._

_"Fuck… Jon… fuck me harder." Her moans echoed through the room - even the fishes surrounding the ship would have likely heard the Mother of Dragons' roar as Jon slammed into her. Rocked into her with the fury of a thousand battles. Jon could count on two fingers the number of lovers he had, but it was clear that whatever he was doing was close to shattering the mighty Daenerys Targaryen._

_The bed creaked. The bed shook, her wild thrashings spurring him on to do his best to break apart the wood and dislodge the nails. Crashing their lips together, her insatiable lust for him only spurred Jon on - a side of him he never before knew. Even with Yigritte. Even with Val. They had stirred desire in him, but Daenerys was like no other. An overwhelming passion, shown in their fiery glances at each other during meetings. The heat in errant touches he left on her skin or she left on his. The manner in which she had pulled him into her chambers that night, immediately pushing her tongue down his throat and shimmying her delicate hands to pump his cock..._

_How she let go… giving into him and his released hunger for the petite, sinful dragon. Pinning her to the bed and using his strength and gravity to pound her. Defile her. Open her up to his cock as he slammed into her harder and harder. Her hands flailing about to dig into his back or rub her nub to crest over a climax - a nub already sore from when he feasted on her that morning. The Dragon Queen couldn't get enough of him, opened herself up to him, both in the small council chamber and in the bedchamber._

_And the howling wolf within him desired it. Lusted for it. Needed it. "So good. Cum for me, my Queen," he urged, teeth sinking into the creamy column of her neck. Good thing her winter dresses had high necklines._

_Her walls contracted around him. "Jon… Jon… Jon… my King… oh fuck!" Screaming, the pierced shriek lasting barely a second before Jon fused their mouths together, the two shared a delirious climax. Their joined pleasure burning like dragonfire within them. Drawing out whatever energy they had, leaving them nothing but two limp rags, sweaty and flush against the other._

_Eventually, Jon managed to roll off Daenerys. He heard a wince as he pulled out, the Queen clearly already missing him._

_"Gods," Daenerys breathed, hand resting on her chest as she caught her breath. "You're incredible."_

_Jon chuckled, blushing slightly. One side effect of his 'bastard armor,' praise was something that normally ran off his back like water off a duck - memories of Lady Catelyn scolding him with vile insults when he bested Robb on the training field came to mind. But with her… everything was different. "I'm glad I could please you, Dany."_

_The Queen arched an eyebrow at him. "Dany?" Her look was unreadable. "Only one has ever called me Dany, before. I hated it."_

_Now Jon's bashful nature came to a head. "Oh… I'm sorry." He turned away…_

_Only to be pulled back by a soft hand. "No, I… like it from you. Dany kissed him sweetly, nuzzling his chest afterwards. "And to think, I thought you nothing but a northern fool that day in Dragonstone."_

_"Any regrets?" Had they been two random persons, smallfolk nestled together after a roll in the hay, Jon wouldn't have felt the need to ask. Instead allow her actions to speak for her. But they were not smallfolk. He was the King in the North, or at least had been. She was the Dragon Queen. Their actions would have effects far beyond the walls around them._

_A sigh left Dany's lips, but she left a small kiss against his neck. "I know there will be consequences. Complications with your subjects… with my subjects…" She cupped his cheek. "But no, I don't regret this."_

_He smiled wanly. "Even sleeping with a bastard?" Jon meant it as a joke, but it came out bitterly all the same._

_Daenerys looked at him as if he spouted five heads. "No, that does not matter." A gentle kiss was pressed on his lips. "You're a good man. An honorable man." She smiled. "A true and just King."_

_"And you're a good and just Queen." Slowly, languidly, their lips melded together, pouring out affection and lust till they were sliding against each other's skin. But neither had recovered yet, and the kiss ended as suddenly as it had begun._

_Shifting in his arms, snuggling against him, Jon felt Dany's hot breath against his bare chest. "Jon?" It was barely a whisper. Only the quiet of the cabin allowed him to hear her._

_"Yes… Dany?" He came to rather like using that name for her. She was always the strong, decisive Mother of Dragons - but with him… she was a different person. As if he was lucky enough to see this side of her. It was an honor. "What's troubling my Queen?" A hand trailed along the skin of her spine._

_A sigh left her lips, wonderfully content despite her thoughts. "Did you mean it?"_

_He furrowed his brows. "Mean what? I need specifics, beautiful." Jon's chuckle died when he saw tear-lined eyes. "Dany? Don't cry."_

_"In the dragonpit. When we talked about the succession, and my…" He noticed a hand drift to cup her womb. "About the witch." His eyes widened in understanding. "Did you mean what you said to me? That you believe it is a lie?"_

_Jon's expression darkened, thinking of what she had told him. Of the look of resignation on her face as she announced her barrenness, accepting it but pain in her voice as clear as day. Oh how he hated the witch. Never having even met her, or learning of her till a week before, but hating her with a white hot passion that startled even him. "Yes, I meant what I said," Jon finally ground out, his hold tightening on her._

_A hot tear fell upon his bare chest. "Why?"_

_"People like that… those that practice magic…" An image of a young girl set aflame, of the anger and agony that he could see in Ser Davos every now and again, flashed through his mind. Of the pain that he felt, an emptiness dwelling inside of him since his resurrection. One without end - until now. "They have their own agendas. I don't trust them, and they've never done anything to prove me wrong."_

_There was a silence. Interrupted only by the gentle crashing of waves against the hull of the ship. Jon looked down at his lover. His Queen. Catching only a glimpse of her forehead, the shimmer of her silver hair in the moonlight. He had never seen someone so beautiful before, a woman that had wormed her way through his defenses. His 'bastard armor' as Tyrion put it so long before. He would do anything for her._

_'Even Bend the knee.'_

_"I never had any reason not to assume she was right," Daenerys finally said. "All the times…" She trailed off._

_There was little doubt as to what she meant, and she was a beautiful, powerful queen. Few would not take advantage to have lovers, and she had been married twice - even still, Jon felt a low simmer of jealousy course through him. Holding her ever tighter. 'She's mine.' Their affair was young - months building - but young. And yet his protectiveness over her threatened to overpower him. "Perhaps he was the problem."_

_Tilting her head up, slightly surprised at his statement, mirth filled Daenerys' eyes. "Perhaps he was." Just as fast as it had come, the mirth disappeared. Replaced by a hesitence… an uncertainty. One that Jon could never associate with the Mother of Dragons - but with Dany? The woman beneath all of it? "You really do believe in me." It was as if she finally heard all he was saying, allowing it into her guarded heart._

_"Aye, I do. You make miracles happen, Daenerys Targaryen." He leaned down to gently cup her abdomen. The place where her womb was nestled._

_At the contact, Dany's look changed. It was as if she looked upon him with new eyes. With a sense of rapture - amazement that someone like Jon Snow even existed. "I… don't deserve you, my King." Her hand drifted up to lay flat over his heart, but suddenly stopped. Fingers tracing the scar over his heart. Despite himself, he flinched. At the movement, her sadness returned. "Oh, Jon." The tears were held back no longer._

_Acting quickly, Jon pulled her flush against him, her tears blazing on his skin and hands stroking her back. "I'm here, Daenerys."_

_"They killed you." The sight of those scars, ones as gaping and ugly as they had been while he was still a corpse upon the table at Castle Black, left her just as affected as she was at Eastwatch. "I almost lost you."_

_"You didn't." He tried not to think about it, how his death had been such a close run thing. But since Daenerys, especially since they had first fallen into bed together, Jon couldn't help it. That only a quirk of fate allowed this beautiful creature to come into his life. "I am here. With you."_

_The cries turned into wry chuckles, as if she was willing herself to laugh. "The gods are kind to me then, if they exist."_

_"I think I was always destined to come to you." Gods, when had he become so sappy? The brooding, sullen Jon Snow - committed to never marrying. Committed to never siring a bastard named Snow. Here he was, wishing, praying to whatever deities would hear him that he could prove this witch was a liar. That he could make this woman lying in his arms could have a child. "I love you, Dany."_

_'I love her?' Could he have fallen in love with the Dragon Queen, only months after she practically held him prisoner when he arrived for dragonglass…_

_Yes. 'Seven Hells, I love her.' And he had no second thoughts about it._

_She stared at him, warmth in her gaze, tears in her eyes - this time of joy. A wide smile stretched across her face. One he felt… no knew was one that few had seen. Meant only for him. "I love you too, Jon Snow." Their lips met in a searing kiss, sealing their declarations of love for each other. "I know it's selfish," she said between kisses, showering them on his face as if unable to break the connection they had. "But I can't lose you, Jon. I… I…"_

_He silenced her with another kiss. "You won't, Dany. I promise."_

_The tears that fell were filled with a resigned grief. "You don't know what the future will bring."_

_"I don't care." Jon flipped them, grey locked in on violet. "You will never not have me. Whatever the future brings, I'll always be there." The rings of purple sparkled with tears of pure happiness as their lips crashed together..._

"THE KING IN THE NORTH!"

Hoots from the Knights of the Vale snapped Jon out of his thoughts. Dissipated the daydream images - the memories - from in front of his eyes. Shaking his head, growing alert once more, he waved at the mounted column as they raised swords in a coordinated cheer for their King. The King they had chosen. The King who had proven himself worthy of their loyalty and love.

And yet he would give it all up for the love of only one.

Tall enough to reach Jon's hip if craning his head up, Ghost nudged his master. Knocking him out of his contemplation. Looking down, Jon smiled at his oldest companion. Oldest friend - Arya was more family to him, anyway. "Hey boy." He leaned down, ruffling the soft white fur. Ghost only licked the hand once, following with a cock of his head, whimpering. Jon sighed. He could read his direwolf better than anyone else. Remembering the bond she had forced with Ghost - with him. "I miss her too."

The memories of her. Of their times together, times of great pleasure and joy only brought pain to him now.

_"You will never not have me." The words wrapped around Jon like a noose._

_"Whatever the future brings, I'll always be there."_

_You lied, Jon._ He hung his head in shame. You broke your promise to her. Broke many promises. But it was that one that Jon couldn't back away from. The one that caused him true agony.

"Dragon Crow!" Perfect. Just what Jon needed, Tormund Giantsbane. The aforementioned ginger brute galloped beside him, eyes sparkling with a manic energy that seemed to exude from his very being. "Can ya believe it, Dragon Crow?" he announced in a pompous flourish that would make a young boy jealous - with his new nickname for the former Night's Watchman he had long known. It stuck deeper than the knives of the mutineers, not that Tormund realized. Beyond them, the disorganized line of Free Folk warriors marched, fierce snarls proclaiming their loyalty to Jon as the cheers of the Vale Knights did. "Further south than any fuckin' Free Folk since… well since fuckin' forever!"

A suggestion of what anatomically impossible action Tormund could perform on himself formed in Jon's throat, but died on his tongue. The Wildling leader - largely by acclamation, since the Free Folk did not kneel or hold titles - didn't deserve it, much as Jon wished to be left alone. He had suffered greatly, his people most of all.

_No, not most of all._

"I'm still surprised that all of you joined us on the march south." Most had honestly figured that Tormund would lead his people to the True North, or at least the Gift.

Tormund shrugged. "Our bond is our bond, and would we truly be safe if the Queen that fucks her brother wins? I know your sorry ass will flee to us if you lose, and she'll come after us. Better make sure ya' win." He thumped Jon on the back, laughing. "Besides, gotta show these southern ladies - what with their sighs and whimpers and faintin' - what real men look like, Dragon Crow."

_Dragon crow._

_Dragon._

_Blood of the dragon._

_Aegon of House Targaryen. Son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark._

The truth bit at Jon worse than the jaws of an undead bear. Worse than the pain of Alliser Thorne's steel.

_Heir to the Iron Throne. Rightful heir._

Jon had endured having his life ripped out of him, his identity destroyed. _'I am not the son of Ned Stark.'_ It had defined him for so long, but it was all a lie. A lie he had endured to his shame and pain for decades. A lie that had nearly crushed him upon its collapse. Leaving him with nothing. A family wary of him, whispers of plots all around him, pain and suspicion from the very woman that he loved...

"Brooding as ever, your Grace?"

Jon turned to see Ser Davos, eyes squinting in the sun but otherwise cheery. _'Damn it, how do I let people keep sneaking up on me?'_ Nothing like the great warrior that braved the icy cold of the True North. Seven Hells, his thoughts were jumbled. "I'm no king. Not anymore."

Davos offered a grin. "No, but you will be soon. I doubt that beautiful lass will let you go, not the way both of you look at each other." He chuckled. "Frankly, we'd finally have a King and Queen we'd want to follow…" the Onion Knight trailed off as he saw the agony badly hidden on Jon's face. "Your Grace?"

A wolf could hide their emotions well, but Jon wasn't fully a wolf. _Blood of the dragon, son of Rhaegar Targaryen._ If anyone could know about it, Davos could, but Jon already broke his promise to Dany once… three times rather. He couldn't do it again. "I betrayed her, Davos."

"Betrayed her?" Davos furrowed his brows. "How, for gods' sake? Did ya' plunder a wildling lass, cause I did warn you about that?" The glare from his sworn Lord quieted him. "Alright, I won't joke. Go on, your Grace."

"I promised I'd be with her, always. And I'm not." Among other things.

"Tis' that all? You're leading her army south, and well if I might add. We're about to take on the forces of the Riverlands, the boy Lord from the Vale is coming with reinforcements. If Dorne and the Reach get off their pampered, perfumed asses, I think we'll outnumber Cersei by the time we reach the capitol…"

Everything changed in an instant. Davos, Jon, and Tormund's hands flew to cover their ears as the earth-shattering shriek boomed over the plains and woodlands. Pain filled Jon, unsettling agony unlike anything he had experienced before… no, he had felt this. When Rhaegal slammed into the snow at Winterfell, the pain that filled him was not just his own - as if he had warged into the dragon, feeling the same wind knocked out of him as the dragon did.

The dragon.

_Rhaegal._

"Take Cover!" he barked.

The lines of men stilled, from green recruits to hardened veterans of decades of war… Those that faced the hordes of dead men at Winterfell, even they trembled at the sound that had only just returned to Westeros after centuries.

"DRAGON!"

Over the tops of the trees, Jon's eyes widened as Rhaegal appeared, wings flapping like mad as he slammed into the creek in a hard landing. One that didn't faze the great beast. Roars and bellows pierced the air, water fountaining around him as he thrashed and leapt - looking for solid ground… and something… someone specific.

Looking for him.

Then Jon felt it. Felt the onrushing pain into his mind, feeling exactly what Rhaegal felt down to his very blood. Pain. Terrible pain. Agony of the greatest kind. "Arrggh!" he grunted, doubling over atop the horse. Everyone too preoccupied finding cover and shelter to hide from the massive, out of control beast, only Davos and Tormund noticed. Both moving to go to Jon, to calm him, but warned away by Ghost - direwolf growling at them before nudging Jon firmly. Head cocked and jerking towards the dragon. Jon, head pounding, hesitated no longer. Scrambling off his mount, he slid down the embankment despite the fearful calls of Davos and Tormund.

Jaws snapping, legs and tail tearing up whatever was in reach, Rhaegal suddenly stilled as Jon approached. Roars turning into a loud whine as his amber eyes bored on the man who had ridden him. It was as if Jon knew exactly what the dragon needed, moving directly to his giant head. "Rhaegal. Rhaegal!" Jon threw his arms around his snout, the warmth almost scorching - he didn't care, not letting go. Hand stroking the warm scales. "Shhhh, shhhhh." A relief coursed through his system as the dragon's anguish began to subside, replaced with an aching whimper… well, it came as more of a growl, but Jon could tell the difference.

"Fuck me blind," Tormund breathed, watching the whole thing. Jon had ridden the beast during the battle, but none had seen him up close… treating it as one would a pet. Men began to poke their heads from the trees or rocks from which they hid behind, staring slack jawed in wonder.

Jon noticed none of this, lost in a trance. Gently stroking, whispering the same calming words as he had when Ghost as a pup was scared of the summer rainstorms that came before Robert Baratheon's visit. And as it had with Ghost, the great green dragon calmed. Almost purring in Jon's embrace. Nudging him with his snout. Jon felt a sudden protectiveness well deep inside him. A sudden possessive feeling as well.

And then he saw it. Sticking out of Rhaegal's neck, trickle of blood frothing around the wound. A bolt, the same scorpion bolts he remembered Daenerys telling him had nearly taken down Drogon. Anger surged through him, anger and fear.

_"A dragon bonds with only one,"_ he remembered Daenerys telling him, at the waterfall in Winterfell, one of the last happy memories he had. _"Will only let one ride him or her, and once that bond is formed, it is for life. It seems Rhaegal has bonded with you."_ He had scoffed inwardly at the time, thinking himself a mere bastard unworthy of a dragon's love - any dragon's love. But now, deep down he knew it to be true. Even if he didn't admit it to himself.

Frantic, unthinking of who was watching - or rather, uncaring of who was watching - Jon wrapped his fingers around the shaft of the massive bolt and pulled. Yanking with all his might. Rhaegal screamed, hissing out the pain as the sharp tip poked and prodded the flesh and bone it was wedged between. A gentle hand upon the scales calmed him. "Easy, boy. Easy. It'll be alright."

Ear-shattering shrieks turned into low growls, the green beast still pained but calming under his touch.

_"Gorgeous beasts."_

_"They are not beasts, they are my children."_

_My children._

Gorgeous. Not beasts, but gorgeous. He had not raised the dragon from birth as Daenerys had, but in that moment Jon truly felt him his child. Exactly like Ghost, but bigger. Now calm, Rhaegal only let out a hiss as Jon yanked out the bolt with one heave. The hard oak clattering on the stones below.

Rhaegal hooted, sleek body jostling on the ground as he was finally rid of the intense pain that so plagued him for days. Violent roars filled the air, sending the few soldiers that came out of their hiding places to watch their King scrambling back. Worried that the fate of the Lannisters at the Goldroad would be theirs. A worry well placed as Rhaegal slammed his tail into the ground, ripping trees out by the trunks to ease from the last tendrils of pain from his wound - and the growing pain of his heart at the knowledge of his mother.

But Jon stood unmoving, still as a stone wall. Those still watching were amazed - as if the fact he had ridden dragonback and killed the Night King wasn't amazing enough to characterize the great White Wolf. The great Lightbringer. It wasn't as if Jon wasn't scared. He was, greatly so, yet scared not for himself but for the great beast in front of him. As soon as he could, he dashed towards Rhaegal's growling head and began to stroke his snout.

"Please, Rhaegal. Calm down." He spoke as if he would for Ghost, the direwolf agitated for any number of reasons. The dragon did not improve, head still but tail still thrashing, orange-gold eyes still frantically flickering about as if in mortal terror. Fear poked through Jon, fear that Rhaegal would resort to burning all about him to calm the raging torment that ate away at his soul.

A loud howl caught the attention of both man and dragon. There was Ghost, perched on a rock with his head tilted back. Howling to the skies above with a cry almost as beautiful as it was mournful. A sound that would bring tears to the eyes of any that heard it. To Jon's surprise, Rhaegal answered with a long hoot, a sound Jon hadn't heard since the Night King felled Viserion north of the wall. _The dragon's own form of mourning._

"It's alright boy, I'm here," Jon stated, his hand rubbing the green dragon's snout. Thanks to Ghost, the dragon had finally stilled, allowing the man that had ridden him into the Dawn to comfort him as only his mother had ever done. Anger and sadness transformed into a contented growl, scales warming under Jon's touch. He did not pull away. _He and Ghost have a connection now._ Was it animal instinct?

_Perhaps it is you that bridges them?_

Suddenly, it all clicked in Jon's mind._ Mourning._ "What's wrong?" he asked hesitantly, hoping against all hope that it wasn't as he feared.

The dragon whined, high pitched noise bringing dread to Jon. There was no reason he could understand Rhaegal, but Jon did nonetheless.

_Blood of the dragon…_

But such meant nothing to him. Jon now knew what was wrong, and it was as if he was being stabbed all over again. "Daenerys." Rhaegal hooted again in affirmation, lowering his shoulder for Jon as if half-instinct, half-urging. Without further hesitation, Jon raced for the dragon's side, grabbing his spines and hauling himself up.

"Your Grace!" Davos called out, disbelieving what he was seeing. Riding one in the Battle for the Dawn was one thing, rationalized as the Queen begging her second dragon to be mounted by someone she trusted. For Jon to mount the green beast by himself… for the dragon to seek Jon out?! It was beyond the old smuggler's comprehension. "The army…"

"Leave him, Onion man," Tormund laughed - watching Jon mount the dragon with an amused smirk. None of the Free Folk carried the surprise of the other Westerosi when they saw their savior ride a dragon. After coming back from the dead, Jon Snow was practically a god in their eyes anyway, and such devotion earned a hundred times over."Nothin' can stop a man from goin' to his Lady Love. Not even King Crow."

As if in a daze, Jon saw nothing. Heard nothing. Cared for nothing. Not for battleplans. Not the army, not his name. Not the Starks, Lannisters, Targaryens, or the damned throne of cold steel. Only one thought pierced the instinct, driving him forward like an irresistible impulse. Daenerys. The pain within the dragon, fear and agony, Jon felt it too. Felt all of it.

_I'll always be there._

He would keep his promise. "Rhaegal, fly!" With a roar that shuddered the entire army, that echoed across the entire Riverlands, Rhaegal spread his wings and leapt into the air.

* * *

The landscape passed by him in a blurr. Perhaps it was beautiful, perhaps a desolate winter's wasteland as the North had been. Jaime Lannister cared not, nor could be bothered. The first time through the fair lands of the River Trident, young Myrcella had made him care, pointing out the wide rivers and gushing about the beautiful flowers and birds. On the second and third, trudging through the slow pondering of foot or at the head of an army, sheer boredom had made him care.

No, this was more like the fourth. The land before the Kingslayer something his mind couldn't afford to comprehend. That there was no space to consider. Before, it had been the torment of his thoughts. The maelstrom of betrayal, of the strings of emotional bonds built over decades snapping like twigs. A lonely life.

Now, he was on a mission. Nothing but the beating of his heart and the tired pants of his horse registering to him. All Jaime could care about was what laid ahead.

His mount had been his third, stolen from a farmhouse close to Seagard. The first two had been blown. Driven to near death by the determination of their rider. He valued the life of his beasts as any proper knight, but couldn't afford to not be callous at the moment.

Despite himself, despite the wall of separation Jaime had put between his emotions and his mission, his mind betrayed him. By thinking of her.

_Brienne._

Why had he ever started with her…? he knew why. He could admit it to himself, but chose not to. _It's better this way._ Better without her. Better that she not involve himself in what he had to do.

It was going to destroy him, but he'd die happy if she wasn't destroyed along with him.

As the serene beauty of the Riverlands passed by like an icy wind, Jaime felt that such a fact alone made the lies worth it.

* * *

Fingers drumming on the twisted form of a sword's hilt, Cersei felt decidedly uncomfortable. When gazing at the Iron Throne, lusting for the power it seemed to radiate from the ancient blades forged in the fire of Balerion the Dread, the golden haired lioness hadn't thought of how damned uncomfortable it would end up being. And now, with the babe growing and kicking inside her, her handmaidens were required to bring the softest cushions for their Queen to sit upon.

She could almost hear her late husband laughing at her, quipping at how much of a weak woman she was. Cersei smiled quietly to herself. '_I am here, and you are dead with a boar's tusk in your belly. I win, you fat asshole.'_

Mind shifting, her scowl soon returned. "Where is he?"

Standing beside her, the loyal form of Hand of the Queen Qyburn bowed gently. "He shall be here momentarily, your Grace."

As if a greenseer, Qyburn proved accurate. Seconds later, the doors threw open and in walked Euron Greyjoy. The pirate king looked in his element, grinning and putting on a magnificent, self-aggrandizing show. "You're gonna love me, my Queen," he bragged, miming frantic fornication in the middle of the great throne room built by Maegor the Cruel. Cersei rolled her eyes, while Qyburn remained more circumspect. There was more to this pirate that met his eye underneath the grandiose exterior. "Destroyed nearly all of their fuckin' ships."

"And did you get the dragons?" Cersei could care less of what ships they destroyed. Without the dragons, the Targaryen whore could have as many ships or men as she wanted - fat lot of good it could do her against the Lannister forces and crack sellswords of the Golden Company. She narrowed her eyes. "Well, Greyjoy?"

Euron flashed her a disarming grin. "I wounded em', both of the motherfuckers. Probably sent one out of the fight entirely. But both are still alive, I believe."

Qyburn sighed, looking to his Queen. She was turning purple with rage, so he cut in. "Why are both still alive, Lord Greyjoy?"

A shrug from the pirate turned lord. "Dumb cunts I got couldn't aim at a moving target. Dragons move in every which way, and the Dragon Whore wasn't about to make it easy and get within point blank range. She's not that fuckin' stupid."

Annoyance seemed to fill Qyburn's expression. "I made sure your reavers were given the proper instruction in the use of my ballistae and scorpions. You assured me, Lord Greyjoy, that your men could hit… if I recall correctly, 'A sparrow atop the Gate of the Gods from the Red Keep.'"

"That's King Euron, to you. You little fucking shit…"

Cersei slammed her fist on the side of the Iron Throne. "You are not a King unless I say you are!" Her body shook with anger. "Frankly I should have you flogged and beheaded for failing me!"

A flash of something crossed Euron's eyes. Something dark - but as quickly as it came, it vanished into the bombastic half-grin, half-leer that had been his trademark. "Do not fret, my Queen, for Euron Greyjoy does not disappoint." Two fingers to his mouth, his lips pursed as he let out a high-pitched whistle. One that rang in Cersei's ears for seconds beyond the duration of the shriek itself. Beyond her, the vast bronze-lined, oaken doors swung open.

Four monstrous reavers - almost as tall as the Mountain himself - marched inside the throne room. Leather armor still soaked in a wet sheen, the smell of salt noxious as they gazed ahead. Not able to speak even if they wished it. _"Dead men tell no tales,"_ Cersei had remembered him telling her after their nightly trysts. _"Tongueless men the same, but they can follow orders as well."_ Much like Ser Gregor, but he was chemically bound to obey.

'Better than fear.'

But such thoughts lasted but a moment. The silent reavers drew stares wherever they went, but upon the glimpse of the being chained in the center of their square, no one in the Throne Room paid them any heed from that point forth. Cersei's jaw dropped despite herself. Harry Strickland blinked. Ser Bronn whistled, hiding a foreboding shiver. Roland Crakehall's eyes widened in pure shock. Qyburn… it was as if a sparkle glinted in his eyes. "My word," he breathed, half stunned, half… excited.

Euron laughed, slapping his thigh in amusement at finally leaving the Mad Lioness speechless. Even nabbing her daughter's murderers hadn't secured that. "Fuck the dragons, your Grace. I am a man of my word, and my word is as golden as Lannister shit."

Slowly, almost reverently, the Lannister Queen lifted herself off of the Iron Throne, struggling from the babe growing within her womb. Proceeding down each of the steps with a graceful flourish - normally such was intentional. Used to blind those before her to her beauty, or display her regal power to onlookers. Intimidate the reluctant penitent to her ruthless steel. But not now. Here, her gait stemmed from her awe, her surprise that even Euron Greyjoy could have secured such a coup. Such a victory as the tiny woman standing defiantly in the cast iron chains that seemed even bigger than she.

In short, Cersei just took it all in. Savoring the sight.

Her hair was wet, sparkling in the light of the sun. White riding coat, the stitch of the vile north, torn and only hanging on her form by a thread. Her body shivered, whether from the cold, the drenching of the ocean, or an overpowering fear Cersei did not know, nor did she care.

"Is this your gift to me, King Euron?"

He nodded. "The finest in the Seven Kingdoms for my Queen."

Cersei smiled, the lioness' lips gradually curling into a grin rather consistent with that of a satisfied hyena. Lilac eyes blazed back at her, full of fury - but behind the dragonfire was something else. A tiny speck of something…

Fear.

It only made Cersei's smile widen. "Daenerys Targaryen," she said, voice dripping with an unctuous amity. "Welcome to King's Landing."

**A/N: And that is how you build proper drama, Dumb and Dumber (my name for the two incompetent showrunners of GoT). **

**There is no way that the scorpions are that accurate. Dragons are tough and fast, and given the nature of early WWI era anti-aircraft guns (no proximity fuses, so only hits matter), unless you could put up rapid fire machine guns, hits were very rare. Same thing should apply to dragons, which were far more armored. Rhaegal was Deus ex Machina-ed away, for no reason other than they could.**

**While Dany and Jon were the obvious botched characters (all of them were, but they were the worst), Jaime was destroyed as well. Seven seasons of development, only to put him back to square one. So stupid, so I hope my alternate reason of him leaving Brienne in Winterfell worked to y'all.**

**This story will have a little bit of everything. Action, romance, scheming, fluff, magic, and plenty of character development. Proper character development. I hope everyone enjoys :D**

**Be sure to read my other two stories, Empire of Ice and Fire and Heart of the Blessed (collaboration with BRuh4).**

**More will be to come.**


	2. Ch 2: A Dragon's Cry

**A/N: Hey everyone. I'm back with another addition of "Fixing bad writing." Hope y'all like.**

**This chapter answers some questions, opens up a lot of new ones, and adds a ton of (proper) twists to the mix.**

**I hope everyone likes. Be sure to review, follow, and fav with your thoughts :D**

Chapter 2: The Last Dragons

The cell was dark, yet the only one in the squalid prison that was made sure to be completely dry. It was a dishonor that even the Lannisters couldn't bring themselves to do, forcing someone of the highest blood to endure conditions more suited for a lower born noble, let alone that of a commoner. But despite such a status, the indignity and shame of it all was overpowering. Most great nobles - especially those from Valyria, in which strength and honor approached zealotry among the great dragonlords - found in this position would be found by their guards with their wrists slit or hanging from a makeshift noose. It was the only way to reclaim their honor.

Not so for Daenerys Stormborn. Queen of House Targaryen, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons, strict orders from the Iron Throne were that she be kept alive no matter what. None of the guards were allowed to beat her or touch her, though she often heard the screams of the other prisoners through the small bars that served as the only window in the cell. Haunting her. Threatening to break her.

_I am the blood of the dragon. A dragon is not a slave, and will not break._

_You may already have broken._

Trying not to cry, most of the time she was curled in a ball in the corner of the cell. Reflecting on her mistakes - forgetting Euron's fleet. Diving into the hail of fire to save her ships, only for Drogon to twist and turn in frantic evasive maneuvers. Sending her into the bay, picked up only because Euron's crewmen spotted her falling from the great dragon.

_How did this happen?_ Three dragons. A horde of Dothraki screamers, crack Unsullied spearmen, the vast fleets of Slaver's Bay and the Iron Islands, two of the great houses of Westeros sworn to fight for her… All whittled away and decimated. The last two due to her Hand's wrongful advice. Daenerys knew Tyrion didn't mean for them to fail, didn't intentionally sabotage her - perhaps his soft spot for his family clouded his judgment, or he was too cocky. The demise of Yara Greyjoy, Olenna Tyrell, and the Sand Snakes was not what Dany concentrated on, though. It was the rest, caused by one and one alone...

_Jon…_

Resting in this dark cell, suffering the same as her beloved children suffered in the bowels of the Great Pyramid - turnabout quite fair play - Daenerys' mind always came back to Jon Snow. The Northern Fool that had showed up at her palace in Dragonstone spinning tales of dead men in the snow. The Northern Fool that would risk his life on idiotic missions all in the name of duty. The Northern Fool that would hew to such rigid duty except for when it mattered.

The Northern Fool that had stolen her heart. Made her feel feelings she swore long before never to allow, lest they weaken her.

_Not a northern fool. A dragon._

_Blood of my blood._

A man ruled by his honor, unless it involved her. Any ordinary woman would have been flattered, swooning over the handsome northern warrior that fancied them so much to even ditch his responsibilities to sweep her up in his arms. But not Daenerys. Not the Mother of Dragons, one of the last dragons, someone concerned with making sure that House Targaryen survived and thrived upon the restoration she would win for them…

And yet she swooned all the same. In the cold cell, warmth flooded through Daenerys at thoughts of Jon - her brave, beautiful Northern Fool. Heat flushing in her core at the passionate nights they shared, the words of love passing from his lips. They empowered her, drove a meaning through her where she had once only felt emptiness.

_"A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing."_ The words of her long lost great-uncle, Aemon. And it was true. Even one moment without Jon threatened to destroy her.

_He refused his duty._ The Dragon Queen in her focused on this, clung to this. Demanded that this be the resolve going forward…

As she sat in the cell, a failure in all but explicit name, another part of her thought something different. A part of her growing, forced to confront her true desires, nestled deep within the royal walls and queenly masks of duty forged by her in the deserts of Qarth, the bloody streets of Slaver's Bay, and the fields of Westeros. _He sees you as his duty._ Wrapping her arms around her, Daenerys found she wanted nothing more than to be his duty - and for him to be hers.

Nothing else seemed to matter… and it scared her.

At that point the door to the cell opened, and she braced for the upcoming strong hands gripping her limbs for feedings, as if she would breathe dragonfire unto them as Drogon or Rhaegal. It didn't seem like the time, but Daenerys had no sense of timing anymore. There was no sunlight, no clock, no sense of routine. But… none of that happened. There wasn't even a voice, only a shadow obscuring the low light of the hallway. Against her newfound instincts as a prisoner, she glanced over her shoulder...

To be met with the smug sneer of the personification of evil on this earth - undisputed for the crown with the Night King obliterated. "Well well, look how the mighty have fallen." Cersei was obviously enjoying this. "I know you wanted to prove your superiority while flying atop that beast of yours into the dragonpit, but now it is I who looks down upon you." Pure hate and bitterness clouded everything about Cersei's appearance, aside from the round swell of her stomach, within a completely innocent life.

_Another Lannister, the family that helped destroy mine._

_The Starks helped, but you love Jon._

_Jon is a dragon, like me._

Daenerys narrowed her eyes, glaring at Cersei as she had the masters of Yunkai and Meereen.

"If you came here to see me beg for my life, you will be going to your chambers empty handed."

The Lannister bitch laughed heartily, voice giddy. Ser Jaime had told her back in Winterfell that Cersei's expressions and words were becoming more and more like Joffrey by the day. Given what Joffrey had done, it only exemplified the righteousness of her cause. "You will eventually beg, especially after I send Lord Varys or my monster of a brother your fingers one by one."

"You wouldn't dare harm me. My dragons will burn your armies to the ground. Leave your babe nothing but ash within your stomach…"

A resounding slap echoed through the cell as Cersei's anger flushed her cheeks a dark crimson. Her fists clenched, contemplating for Ser Gregor to take the girl's insolent hand as retribution for such a threat. But a kick from the babe within her spread calm through the lioness' form. She would prove Maggie the Frog wrong. By bearing a fourth child, and by not allowing the younger beauty before her to destroy all she had built. "That is true, and as long as you are here, your dragons will not touch me." Daenerys felt her heart sink… knowing it to be true. "Perhaps they would, though without a rider the dragons will likely revert to feral beasts. My Hand has assured me of such." A smirk curled on her mouth. "I heard the Bastard of Winterfell rode one. It would be fitting for another Stark to burn under a dragon's gaze…"

"DO NOT SPEAK OF HIM!" It was Dany's turn to thunder, fingers bared like claws to carve deep lines down the face of the Mad Lioness, but a backhand across the face from Ser Gregor sent her to the ground. Blood dripping from a cut in her lip.

Cersei's eyes sparkled. "Ah, it appears the Dragon Queen does have a weakness. Love…" She almost spat out the world. "All your armies, all your dragons, wasted because of your love of a bastard." The lioness laughed derisively. "A woman's power is between her legs, but strength turns to weakness when they fall in love. Weak. You are weak, while I am strong. Such will be your undoing. Will be his undoing." Her laugh only grew. "Ned Stark's bastard… he'd trade the entire world to me just to get you back alive, the fool."

Lungs sucked in air, fighting back tears from the sting upon her face. "He will kill you all," Daenerys hissed. _Do not wake the dragon._ "Leave your armies a pile of ash."

"I shall make sure Greyjoy or Strickland kills him first then." Turning to leave, she cast one last look upon Dany. "My only order is that his head will be brought here, for you to look upon before I have Ser Ilyn behead you." Her eyes twinkled triumphantly. "The mighty Dragon Queen, destroyed by love as her brother before her. Oh, how my father would have laughed." The door slammed shut, the last glimpse Dany having were the Mountain's monstrous eyes.

* * *

An Unsullied guard opened the door to the hall of the Painted Table as Jon walked… no stormed in to find the remaining members of Daenerys' small council waiting around the famous map table for his arrival. All anxious, all shocked that the former King of the North arrived so quickly. And upon Rhaegal, no less.

Two of those in the room knew exactly why, Tyrion gripping his second flagon of wine that day while Varys sat with his hands clasped together, outwardly placid but the gears turning within his scheming mind.

Face wet from the salty spray of the ocean, covered in the grime of marching and eyes red from lack of sleep, Jon still looked every inch his father's son. _His real father._ Two sets of minds realized. "Where is the Queen?" The sight upon arriving at Dragonstone had both terrified and angered Jon. Rhaegal wounded and frantic within the Riverlands was one thing, nearly driving him to abject terror...

But on the island where Daenerys had been born… where Rhaegar Targaryen, his sire, had resided as Prince. It was chaotic, Unsullied ferrying equipment from gutted hulks of ships beached upon the shore. Drogon had appropriated the cliffside closest to the castle, silent and still. No charred skeletons laid around him, the dragon clearly not having eaten in a while. Jon, not approaching for fear of a hostile reaction, nevertheless could see Drogon's wounds from a distance. Wounds much more severe than Rhaegal's.

Jon wanted answers, and was determined to get them from the morose small council.

If watching Jon arriving on Rhaegal shocked Varys, the Master of Whisperers did not display it openly. "Welcome back to Dragonstone, my Lord. In this time of… turmoil," the Spider chose his words carefully. Voice as sweet as syrup. "We need a steady hand for the ship of state, and I am confident you shall deliver such."

Jon eyed Varys warily. This was a man who had served five monarchs. Shamelessly passing from one reign to the next without a care. Such effusive praise didn't strike him as someone loyal to Daenerys frantically welcoming another loyalist to stabilize a chaotic situation. Rather… something else… _'Gods, did Sansa tell him?'_

"Spare me the flowery words, Lord Varys," Jon finally said. He looked at Tyrion. "Where is Daenerys?"

The Hand to the Queen shifted uncomfortably. "Ummmm… she is not here." He knew not why he hesitated, only that he could see a fire burning in the northerner's eyes, simmering and waiting to explode into an inferno. _Dragonfire._ Tyrion lost all doubt as to Jon's parentage at that moment, the fire so alike to the Queen's.

Fire that was only stoked further. "Not here? NOT HERE?!" Jon forced himself to calm down, but the deep breaths only expanded the flames raging inside him. "Rhaegal fleeing to me, scorpion bolt in his neck! Drogon bruised and battered with wounds, laid on the cliffs without making a sound? Hulks of ships battered upon the beach? What in seven hells happened?!"

"Euron Greyjoy attacked our fleet," Missandei stated flatly, answering when the other two refused to. While Tyrion was nervous, and even Grey Worm found his lips pursed in a worried line, the usually cheerful translator was calm. Emotionless. "Wounded both dragons, and knocked her Grace off of Drogon and into the water."

Jon's eyes widened. "WHAT?!" he thundered, heart beating out of his chest. "Where is she?! Is she… dead?" He would burn the entire Iron Fleet upon the water if his Dany had died.

Eyes shifting to Tyrion, Missandei gestured to Jon. "Give it to him."

Nodding, Tyrion reached into his doublet and produced a folded scroll, presented to Jon - who snatched it from the Hand with impatience. As soon as he finished the first sentence, his already pale skin turned as white as Ghost's face.

T_o the followers of the usurper,_

_The dragon whore is in the deepest, darkest room of the black cells. Surrender and bend the knee now, or I will return her to you one piece at a time._

_Cersei of House Lannister, First of Her Name. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms._

Snarling, Jon crumpled the paper in his fists, fingers digging so hard that they were close to drawing his own blood. "Is..." Jon fought not to either slam his hand on the black stone or break down into tears in front of Dany's small council. He cleared his throat. "Is there any plan to rescue the Queen?"

"I'm afraid that could be impossible." Tyrion did not want to give up on the Queen he pledged to, or the former King in the North whom he greatly respected - and began to greatly fear. "Euron's ships control Blackwater Bay, and I doubt the Golden Company is asleep at the switch."

"So that means you have no means to save our Queen." Missandei's voice was cold, biting.

"Whatever plans I could think of are negated by the realities on the ground, Lady Missandei." Flagon in his hand, he brought it up to his lips.

Something in Jon snapped. It wasn't often that he lost his cool, the wolf inside him a grounding force of icy steel. Securing him in the wasteland of the True North. Securing him a level head during the battles of Castle Black and Winterfell. Giving him the strength to take on the Night King when all others had failed before him - taking the opportunity that Arya's strike gave him. But deep within, the fire waited. Stoked with each slight, each insult, each smug comment. Ready to burst out.

The flame rose when killing Slynt.

The flame rose when beating Ramsay.

The flame rose when defending Drogon on the ice.

And it rose once more when Rhaegal arrived only a few days before.

And it rose that moment, seeing Tyrion find solace in the bottle. After countless mistakes that had nearly left Daenerys reeling, that had left her captured and in the custody of the most evil, vicious person in the Seven Kingdoms, he stood there nonchalantly getting drunk and stating no plans existed. Eyes ablaze, he smacked the flagon out of Tyrion's hands.

Tyrion nearly choked on the wine as the glass crashed on the floor. "What…" He found himself face to face with the fiery image of what Rhaegar Targaryen would have been had he been dark instead of fair. Inside, he trembled.

"You are no longer Hand, Lord Tyrion. Give me the pin." Four sets of wide eyes blinked at him, but he was in no mood. "As the only man who knows what in the seven hells he's doing here, I'm taking command in her Grace's absence."

"Lord Snow…" Not Snow, Targaryen. "You have no authority over us…" Tyrion sputtered.

"I don't care. Ser Davos Seaworth will be the Hand until Daenerys is free." His eyes narrowed. "Are you refusing my order?" _I will not hesitate to do to you what I did to Janos Slynt._ "Don't make me ask twice, Lord Tyrion." With a sigh, not wishing to argue, Tyrion unclipped the pin from his lapel and dropped it in Jon's waiting hand. With it, a huge weight felt as if it lifted off his chest. "Good night, my Lord. I shall be in my rooms if you wish for my continued advice."

"If you are too drunk to stand if I seek out your continued advice, your new chambers will be at the bottom of Blackwater Bay," Jon hissed back. Closing his fingers around it as he watched Tyrion stagger off, Jon turned to Grey Worm. "Get the Unsullied off Dragonstone and to the other army. I will stay with the Queen's bloodriders and a small guard to protect the dragons as they heal, but it's too isolated to hold any large amount of soldiers."

Grey Worm looked angry, while Missandei remained emotionless beside him. "I listen to Queen Daenerys, not you. What give you right to take control…"

"I think that having Lord Snow taking control in the absence of her Grace is an excellent idea." Varys' words were a shock to all present… aside from Jon, who glazed his expression in a cold ice. "We do not need to bicker. Only those that would harm the Realm benefit from those in this room fighting like children in a nursery." Wan eyes set beneath flabby cheeks nevertheless stared down Grey Worm, who grunted but nodded - quickly turning tail and leaving the Painted Table.

Intending to follow her paramour, Missandei looked once more to Jon. "You earned the trust of the Queen, and her love. Then suddenly seemed to break it." She stepped closer to him, the usually shy and quiet translator brimming with an icy steel that would put a King of Winter to shame. "I trust you for now, so I pray that you know what you are doing, Jon Snow." At that, she followed Grey Worm to their shared chambers.

Leaving Jon alone with the Master of Whisperers. "So it is just us remaining, Lord Snow." Jon could have sworn that the eunuch's eyes sparkled. "Shall you be needing anything else of me?"

Wracking his mind for answers, the events of the last few days suddenly leaving him with a great fatigue, he grasped out to sit upon one of the cold stone chairs ringing the great map table of Aegon the Conqueror. _My ancestor._ "Just send the ravens to Ser Davos to come to Dragonstone at once. Lord Yohn Royce will be in command of the army until Grey Worm arrives, then they are to share co-command." Someone loyal to Dany and someone loyal to him… or Sansa… "And send another one to Tormund. Have him watch over the other Lords and make sure they don't do anything foolish or disloyal."

"Do you wish for me to marshal my flock in the capitol? Gleam whatever information they can about the comings and goings?"

Jon looked up to him. "I am shocked that you haven't done so already." Was he forgetful or did he have another agenda? "Do it."

"Of course, my Lord." On the way out, Varys leaned in to Jon's ear - confirming it was indeed the latter. "Long may you reign,_ King Aegon_." And he was out before the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms could reply - though what reply could be made was lost to him.

* * *

"Ropes are strong, sire. Half a foot thick. Not even the greatest Kraken could snap it."

Euron eyed his artilleryman warily. "It's not Kraken you need to worry about."

Certain that every detail of the attack would get to Cersei eventually - cutting tongues did wonders for keeping men in line, but those still with tongues could loosen them for the right motivations - Euron had raged with the fury of an Essosi typhoon as the Dragons winged off into the distance. Such rage was mollified when Daenerys Targaryen herself was fished out of the water, an enterprising young lad from Pyke spotting the silver-haired goddess bobbing atop the waves, earning him officer rank for his keen eyes.

But the dragons were the big prize. The prize Euron craved with every fiber of his being. The only fitting prize for the King of the Iron Islands, one who would pull the shit-stained rocks out of the purgatory of raping and raiding into the pantheon of greatness.

"My King, the Hand of the Queen is in your chambers as requested."

He smiled at the captain of the_ Silence_, one of his most loyal followers that had been with him since brother Balon exiled him after the first Greyjoy Rebellion. "See to it that this is done, Karak, or I'll have you killed." Every word was meant, though Euron doubted that Karak would fail - he never had. Pushing his way into his cabin, the King of the Iron Islands found Qyburn leaning against the wooden walls, hand clutching his stomach. "Lord Hand, I trust your journey on the skiff was tolerable." _Oh, this is too fucking perfect._

The disgraced maester and former Master of Whisperers looked absolutely miserable. "Let us… just say that I'm…" He looked like he just swallowed his own vomit. "I haven't gotten my sea legs yet."

"No, I suppose not." Euron's amusement hardened into a scowl. "Do you have the information I need? The Queen tasked me with finishing off the threat to her, and I intend to keep it."

Composing himself as best he could - not well - Qyburn nodded. "Aye. Both dragons are alive, according to my little birds, but being without their mother has had adverse consequences. The beast that the northern bastard is alleged to have ridden, the green one, they say he disappeared out to sea. No sign of him since the day following your ambush."

"And what do your 'little birds' have to say about the other one. The black fucker?" Euron had fallen in love with that great beast from the moment he set eyes on it at the dragonpit. Plans and plots already whizzing through his mind barely a second after the Dragon Queen had dismounted it. "I was positive that my men had put at least three bolts into the beast." _As I told them to. No heads, no necks, no hearts. __Not that the fools could aim worth a damn._

He had still cut the tongues off them anyway for failing to achieve the Queens orders. No reason not to.

Qyburn swayed with the bobbing flagship, trying hard to keep the pork stew eaten earlier in the day from lubricating the deck. Ignoring the smirk marring Euron's face. "Aye, there have been whispers. Tales of Balerion the Dread reborn upon this earth, nestled atop the cliffs. Nursing wounds and making no movements whatsoever. As if he misses his mother."

Nodding, Euron began to ponder the information given. _On the cliffs… tricky. Complicates matters._ In all else, the news was exactly what he wanted to hear. _Fuckin' perfect._ He couldn't have asked the Drowned God for greater providence. A grin spread across his face… but not his gregarious trademark. No, this was far more sinister…

A grin not seen in King's Landing since Cersei herself watched the Sept of Baelor immolate in front of her.

Looking up, he could see Qyburn still standing there. "Did I say you could sleep in my quarters?" Euron waved his hand dismissively. "Get the fuck out. Tell the Queen I'll bring her a dead dragon by month's end."

"I shall…" A clump of food and bile made its way to his mouth, Qyburn's throat burning as he swallowed it back down. The seas were not kind to him. "I shall see to it that her Grace receives the news promptly, Lord Greyjoy." A reaver - one with his tongue still connected to his mouth - escorted the Hand to the Queen out of the cabin.

Standing, Euron threw the tarp draped over an imposing device, seated in the middle of the cabin. A black surface gleamed in the sparing sunlight streaming through the windowshades, Red gold and Valyrian steel banded the surface, shiny and reflecting Euron's visage back to him. A reflection twisting into a grotesque form.

_My true form, beneath my handsome face._ Few knew the real Euron Greyjoy, hidden beneath the exterior he put on for the fools and cattle. _They soon will._

He placed his hand upon the great device, feeling the warmth enter his hand along the smooth surface. The bands were covered by strange writings, Valyrian glyphs etched. Euron ran his hands along the mental, gazing upon the runes. _Blood for fire, fire for blood_. A soothing warmth coursed through him, though he pulled away before his hand could be burned. By ancient magic unknown even to someone as worldly as him.

Euron knew what he had to do. What would be needed of him soon, to achieve his birthright. _Balon's cunning gutted our islands twice, gutted them of our best men and finest ships. Victerion's stupidity and savagery nearly lost us our entire fleet at Lannisport, and did lose us our fleet to Fat Robert mere months later._ Lesser men, his brothers.

_All were lesser men, raping and raiding like mere cutthroats._ Fools of House Greyjoy, not fit to live in the world soon to be built by his hands. It would be he, Euron the Silencer - further names and titles flashing through his mind as fast as a fall gale upon Pyke - that would win the game of thrones. Washing away the lions, direwolves, and dragons beneath his tempest. Creating a new world in his image.

Oh, did the coming victory taste sweet indeed.

* * *

It was hard to imagine Cersei Lannister as having mercy, but Daenerys found that the Lannister Queen she so despised did possess some of that trait more common in herself or Jon. Her clothes, while not good quality and utterly drab, were at least clean homespun wool that a Fleabottom maiden would have been proud to own. A bucket had been provided for her daily voiding, and was emptied out by sullen-faced guards every evening. Meals were… slightly more filling than the average slop provided for the other prisoners.

Of this Dany would have been inclined to be grudgingly thankful for, if not for two factors. First, there was no doubt in her mind that Cersei had not an altruistic bone in her body, instead keeping her alive for hostage purposes.

Second, the hard bread and turnip soup had been the third meal in the last two days she had expelled into the waste bucket. Dry heaves still shuddered through her system, cursing the gods she rarely even thought about for such a slight on her honor. _As if my imprisonment wasn't enough for them._

Setting the bucket down to the dirty stone below, she slowly, gingerly sat upon the stone casement - threadbare goose down padding serving as her mattress and blanket when folded over upon itself. Her back cracked, only adding to the discomfort from the nausea. Most prisoners wouldn't even have such a luxury, she realized, not wishing to complain. Only berating herself once more for her foolishness at Dragonstone.

Dany nearly jumped as the latch opened. In walked Qyburn, the false maester, a small smile curled on his wrinkled face. "Greetings, your Grace," he said differently, bowing shallowly.

She glared at him with dragonfire in her violet eyes. "Trying to twist the knife, you sadistic cunt?"

Qyburn's smile didn't leave him - if Dany didn't know better, he seemed to have a flash of apology upon his expression. "Pain for the sake of pain is an abomination, your Grace. I have been sent by her Grace, Cersei, to ensure that you are healthy enough for her purposes." An eye gleamed the vomit-filled bucket below her. "And I see I have my work cut out for me." Taking a seat upon a small stool, Qyburn sighed when she flinched. "Please, your Grace. I don't bite. My… experimentations notwithstanding, I follow the teachings of the Citadel to do no harm."

Still glaring, Daenerys nevertheless let Qyburn conduct the examination.

"Forgive me, for it was not my idea to choose these accommodations." He glided over her ribs, other hand drifting to check her pulse. "You are still a highborn of the most august blood, and deserving of more respect."

"Why am I hesitant to believe you?" Dany asked, though it was more a statement than a question.

"You are a very valuable hostage, your Grace. My Queen would be a fool to harm a single hair on your head. Not while there are two dragons still out there, angry enough to do something disastrous." A ghost of a grin crossed his face. "Or three dragons, rather."

Dany's eyes widened. _'How, how does he know?'_ Anger coursed through her, for if Cersei knew another of Rhaegar's children lived, she would do whatever it took to kill him. To kill Jon.

_"But I can't lose you, Jon."_

The tempest of rage and sorry stilled, paused as an odd look plastered itself on Qyburn's face. "What the seven hells…" he murmured, hands suddenly poking and prodding her stomach… her abdomen. Fingers tracing unknown patterns atop her skin. Unable to help herself, Daenerys squirmed underneath his touch. Uncomfortable, and slightly fearful. The disgraced Maester may have been the Hand to the Lannister Queen, but he was nothing if not competent. "Tell me, your Grace, when was your last moonblood?"

"It was right before I left…" No… Daenerys remembered. "It was here, right before the meeting at the dragonpit..."

His eyes sparkled. "By the Old Gods and the New…" Wonder tinted his voice.

"What?" Dany suddenly blurted out. "If I am dying, just have me killed already." Better a sudden death than a torturous one - or one where Cersei used her passing to torture Jon.

Qyburn chuckled, shaking his head. "It seems as if my Queen has two hostages now." The blink of confusion from the young Mother of Dragons was both amusing and adorable in his aging eyes. "You are with child, your Grace. A little over two moonturns by my observation."

The words slammed into her as if a punch from the Night King himself. "I… but…" Disbelief tinged her voice. "But I cannot have children…" _Many times with Daario. Many times with Jon on the boat to White Harbor._ Nothing had happened. Not one seed had taken root in her womb.

But it had.

"Stranger things have happened, your Grace." Qyburn seemed, oddly pleased with the turn of events. Had the news not shocked Dany both to a chalky white pallor and to near tears, she'd have noticed and felt uneasy. Immediately noticed the political fissure before her. "In this age of renewed magic, stranger things have truly happened."

She still could not believe it. The witch… her curse had ruled Dany's life for years. Had nearly caused her to spurn her lover. To spurn Jon, but alas, their love and attraction had been too deep - at least at first.

Standing, Qyburn quickly pulled Dany's dress down to regain her modesty. "I shall be making changes to your daily meals. So that you will have a proper diet for your growing babe."

The naked kindness shocked Dany out of her thoughts, the Dragon Queen returning. If just for a little while. "Why are you being kind to me?" Her eyes narrowed. "What is in it for you? Another power ploy with Cersei? Barter my life and… my child… to secure defeat for my armies?"

Qyburn only chuckled, one not malevolent or creepy, but instead sounding a mere kind old man. As if the pain and death his actions had caused were forgotten. Slowly, he bent down to lean into her ear. His hot, wet breath ought to have disgusted Daenerys, but what he said blocked all else from her mind. "Not all in King's Landing toast Cersei's health. Not even her Hand." Qyburn's bony hand moved to caress her cheek… Daenerys too shocked to pull away, or even flinch. "The last dragons have more allies than they think."

She stared at him, mind a swirl of emotions at two massive revelations sent her way. She would have plenty of time to ponder them as the man stood to leave. One without any further information but Qyburn's cryptic statements… and the other with all the information Daenerys needed.

Before he reached the door, Qyburn turned and bowed. Pin of the Hand jostling on his maester's robes. "I shall bid you goodbye, your Grace. Unfortunately, you are not the only person here I must attend to." Rapping on the door, Qyburn briskly walked out once the guard outside opened it.

Hearing the door beyond latch shut, the wails of other prisoners heralding the Hand to Cersei Lannister - traitor Hand, if he was to be believed - turning his attention to more fruitful interrogations, Dany found her composure faltering. "He can't possibly…" she said softly, to no one in particular. To herself, thoughts finding themselves out loud. "I can't have children…" Gently, almost hesitant, her hand drifted to cup her abdomen…

Daenerys gasped, her surprise followed soon after by tears. There was nothing, nothing that the average person would have picked up on, but Dany felt it. A sense, the bond of one dragon to the other - just as she felt the warmth within her dragon eggs long thought to have turned to stone, so too she felt the life growing within her.

Her child.

Jon's child.

Their child. A child of ice and fire.

The Dragon Queen cried, cheeks stained with tears and snot bubbling out of her nostrils, uncaring as to who might see. All layers stripped away, in her solitude no longer the mighty Targaryen that broke the chains in Slaver's Bay. The strong Queen that sailed across the Narrow Sea. The brave dragonrider that fought the Army of the Dead and triumphed.

No, now she was Dany. The scared girl on the coast of Pentos simply wishing for home. The terrified widow and would-be mother in the Red Waste, wishing to beg the gods above simply for her Rhaego back.

Rhaego was never coming back, but she was not barren. A child grew within her.

_"When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child…"_

For so long, those words had haunted her. Taunted the great Mother of Dragons with an everlasting pain… only to be proven false as flippantly as Jon Snow had stated when they sailed to White Harbor. _Jon…_

"My love…" The tears overwhelmed her. "I wish you were here to see this. I need you... we need you." Only silence responded.

Curling into a ball, Dany clutched her abdomen - still flat, not even the smallest swell. She loved it all the same. Loved him or her. Bittersweet, but hers. _"Lyka sir, ñuha rūs. Sagon iēdrosa jorrāelagon, ȳdra daor limagon."_

The gentle words of the Valyrian lullaby left her lips, her voice catching as she sang through the tears.

_"Ēdrugon hae ao sagon inditan ondoso se qelbar."_

A memory, one of a silver-haired woman singing the same tune to her… her mother. The only memory Daenerys had of her. It was only fitting for her to sing the same to her unborn child.

_"Ēdrugon se gūrēñagon, ñuha mōrī vāedar."_

The words grew faint, the sobs calming. Tears only now trickling down her cheeks.

_"Sīr nyke sagon lēda ao skori ao pendagon."_

As the chained Mother of Dragons fell asleep, an image flashed through her mind. An image of raven hair, of a kind smile. Of grey eyes… the eyes of her beloved. _Jon, please. Come back to me._

"I love you…"

**A/N: Is that a tear in my eye? No, my vision does not deceive me.**

**I'm not sure of the actual timing of the show, but for the sake of simplicity, I will say that our little Targling was conceived either on the final leg of the journey to the North or along the land journey from White Harbor to Winterfell. **

**Big stuff planned for Euron and Qyburn. As my good friend ****Dakkaman777 pointed out to me, book Euron is quite different from show Euron. I want to be faithful to the casting of the show, so here we are. Book Euron with a facade of show Euron. With Qyburn, remember, he was initially left to die by the Mountain but saved by Talisa. Stay tuned ;)**

**To paraphrase Michael Corleone: "You aren't a wartime Hand, Tyrion." Jon needs someone he can trust, and it's not Tyrion. You'll see why soon enough.**

**The song at the end is the High Valyrian translation of the song in the Prince of Egypt, sung to Moses by his mother when placed in the bullrushes"**

**_"Hush now, my baby, be still now, don't cry,_**

**_"Sleep as you're rocked by the stream,_**

**_"Sleep and remember my last lullaby,_**

**_Someday we'll meet when you dream."_**

**Be sure to read my other two stories, Empire of Ice and Fire and Heart of the Blessed (collaboration with BRuh4).**

**Please review!**


	3. Ch 3: A Dragon's Choice

**A/N: Hi all. So touched by the outpouring of support for this little story :D**

**More deliberative chapter here, lots of conversations and thinking. But a key flashback.**

**I hope everyone likes. Be sure to review, follow, and fav with your thoughts :D**

Chapter 3: A Dragon's Choice

It had been two weeks since arriving at Dragonstone. Two weeks since assuming the role as acting monarch - which by his birth to some and his actions to most was fully within his right and garnered little protest.

_Two weeks since Dany…_

Aside from the training yard, several Dothraki and Unsullied nursing painful bruises thanks to him, the dragon had yet to be woken. Relegated to a slumber as the icy direwolf reigned supreme. An icy steel by which Jon handled all matters that were coming to him.

"I presume we can consider all north of Hayford Hall to be under our control?" Jon asked the two trusted members of Dany's small council. With Ser Davos still not here, he was forced to rely on them. They hadn't done anything insolent or stupid, but Tyrion's blunders and Varys' not so subtle words for him the night of his arrival hadn't strayed from his mind.

Nursing the flagon of watered wine in his hand - Jon's warnings taken quite seriously - Tyrion gestured to the Westerlands atop the painted table. "They are still hostile, my Lord. My ancestral lands won't bend the knee, and they have enough grain to last them the winter…"

"And they have no troops, Tyrion," Jon shot back. "All are clustered in and around the capitol, correct, Lord Varys?"

"That is the song my birds are singing," replied the eunuch. "Six thousand men of House Crakehall, three thousand assorted forces that survived the Goldroad. Twenty thousand among the Golden Company, and another fifteen thousand sellswords."

Jon sighed. "Forty-four thousand…" His head throbbed. "And we have ten thousand Dothraki, three thousand Unsullied, three thousand Northmen, two thousand Riverlanders, two thousand Free Folk, and five thousand men of the Vale. Twenty-six thousand?"

"And two dragons," Varys stated flatly. "The first Aegon fought with far less men." A subtle nudge. "My correspondence with the Lords of the Reach and Dorne have borne fruit. Lord Hightower of Oldtown and Lord Dayne of Starfall are marching a relief force of ten thousand to Harrenhal within the next fortnight."

Wide eyes stared at Varys. "When did you request these men?"

"Before our party left White Harbor, your Grace." Far less subtle. "Both loyal men of House Targaryen - they will likely support the claim of the true King." All subtlety dropped.

Jon's eyes narrowed. "What did you say, Lord Varys?" Neither man knew this, but it was the same tone he used on Janos Slynt. Tyrion melted back into his seat.

"I serve the Realm. And the Realm needs a ruler that can grant it peace and prosperity. Her Grace is my Queen and I serve her, but…" _Everything after the word 'but' is horseshit_, Jon remembered his father telling him. "Perhaps her strengths are more suited to an... advisory or executive role underneath the true ruler?"

There was a silence so tense, one could hear a fly land upon a carpet. An unreadable expression crossed Jon's face - but both Tyrion and Varys recognized it from the past. The look of Ned Stark when trying his damndest to keep from exploding in anger. For Jon Snow - Aegon Targaryen - the caging of his inner dragon. "Are you implying, Lord Varys, what I think you are implying." He watched the impassive, plump face shifting in thought. Lips tucked inwardly as he prepared to answer. "Choose your answer wisely."

Varys knew plenty of how to navigate raging infernos. Serving under both Aerys and Joffrey tended to quickly separate the men from the boys. "I mean no ill will to her Grace, but you are the true King, Aegon."

Jon's fists clenched. "My name is not Aegon."

_Isn't it?_

The beautiful face of Daenerys - his Dany - flashed in his mind. Of the pain… and then the simmering anger when he rejected the Targaryen name.

"Our blood is as part of you as their blood is…"

"It technically is, your Grace." Tyrion's lips were in a deep frown of resignation. "Daenerys is only useful to my sister as both a pawn and as insurance. As long as she is there, the dragons will not attack." Tyrion would never underestimate her cruelty and bitterness again. "As soon as you reject negotiation and the ambushes for Rhaegal and Drogon are established… our Queen will die."

Two fists slammed on the table. "Do not say that!" Jon hissed. Tyrion's statement reminded him of Sansa, dismissing Rickon and leaving him to Ramsay Bolton. It tore his heart out seeing Rickon die just feet from him. _I will not let Dany suffer the same!_

"None of us wishes the Queen to die, your Grace." If Varys was lying, he was damn good at it. "But the Targaryen fire and blood isn't the measure of peace and prosperity as the songs portray it as. Rebellions, cruelty, vicious wars of succession... The Starks know this first hand."

They did, Jon conceded. _My grandfather and uncle burned by my other grandfather… all over a lie._

"Pure Targaryen blood is dangerous, and will only invite chaos and bloodshed if left unchecked. Perhaps… the Targaryen greatness is best deployed in someone with the temperment of another, more... circumspect animal." Varys' eyes twinkled. "One outwardly a dragon but inwardly something far more dispassionate... A direwolf perhaps?"

Tyrion saw a fire flare in Jon's eyes before it disappeared, ice returning. _Only proving Varys' point… I'm afraid._ The spider was vicious that way - once his mandibles latched onto something they were tough to dislodge. "Daenerys is my Queen. We will be loyal to her to the end, understood?" At least there was steel in his voice."

The Imp butted in quickly. "Understood, my Lord. We shall leave you to things."

As Tyrion left, Varys clasped his hands together. "I see Ned Stark in you, young Aegon. Smarter and less trusting than he, but the honor and modesty still remain. The perfect combination for a King."

The door closing, leaving the true King to brood alone, Tyrion turned to Varys. "You are playing a very dangerous game, my cockless friend. The Queen promised to burn you if you betrayed her."

"The Queen isn't here, I'm afraid," Varys responded. "Only a King reluctant to rule can rule properly. If, gods forbid, our Queen were to see her people rally behind another… I am confident all will be well." Watching the Master of Whispers walk away, Tyrion wished his wine was not watered - and that he had far more than a mere flagon.

* * *

"Watch it!" So confined to his own thoughts, Grey Worm hadn't noticed the supply cart barrelling down at him till the snarling shout of the wagon driver. "Fuckin' foreign scum!"

Grey Worm only glowered in anger, hands behind his back and resuming his walk to the Unsullied camp at the other end of the ruins of Harrenhal. By Jon's orders, they had quickly landed and marched overland at double quick time to reach the main Targaryen host before Golden company riders spotted them. Indignant though he was at the Northern Lord taking control in his Queen's name in spite of the two's love affair having ceased, Grey Worm accepted that Jon Snow had a head for tactics.

_At least he respects us, unlike those he used to rule over._

Not completely accurate. The Wildlings were fine, Grey Worm supposed. They respected strength, leading to considerable fights between them and the Dothraki - as well as a camaraderie that extended past the battlefield. After meeting with the band leaders at their tents, Grey Worm lost count of the number of Dothraki and Free Folk rutting out in the open. It amused him slightly to see the great wildling leader, Tormund, claim two Dothraki beauties as his own while the man's son and two daughters cheered along with dozens of Dothraki screamers and Free Folk spearmen.

The rest of the Westerosi only gave him looks of contempt for the most part. Ones Grey Worm shot back. _Queen Daenerys lost a dragon for them. Lost Jorah the Andal. Lost her freedom._ And it seemed the only ones who cared were Lord Snow and the Free Folk. He couldn't wait for the war to be over and to sail to Naath with Missandei.

"You!" Grey Worm stilled, body tensing. "You there, stop!" That tone… the sharp bark, designed to make the slave stop instantly. Turning, he saw two northman approach him. One young, rather comly in the rugged, dark northern way - like their Lord Snow. The other was older, scars pockmarking his face. It had been the latter that spoke. "You, foreigner! What's your name?!"

Grey Worm met the man's gaze, hand close to his short sword. "Grey Worm," he said evenly.

"You belong to the Unsullied?" The man's voice wasn't as loud, but still as gruff.

"I am Unsullied." Missandei had improved his common tongue, but he made sure to lay the accent thick. "Their commander."

The freedman planned for many eventualities. What he did not plan for was how the burly Northerner a head taller squeezed him in a bear hug. "You magnificent son of a bitch," he laughed, crushing Grey Worm's ribcage.

Watching the commander's face, the companion laughed as it alternated between complete confusion and agony as his eyes bugged out. "Let 'em down, Marden. Seven Hells."

Barking out a laugh, the large northerman dropped Grey Worm with slap on the back that sent the freedman staggering. "Sorry about that, mate. Just 'ow we northerners are."

Grey Worm fought the urge to vent his stomach - he was not about to look any weaker before them… "I… see." He still eyed them suspiciously, if not openly hostile.

Recognition flashed on the younger man. "Oh, forgive me for the slight. I am Ser Eddard Cassel, sworn sword to His Gra… The Lord Jon. This is my sworn sword Marden Tanner."

"Cause my grandpappy was a tanner," Marden laughed. "Glad to finally meet the fuckin' beast that saved our ass back there!"

Grey Worm's anger flashed at the word 'beast,' but it softened back into confusion as the man's tone. "Saved your asses?"

Marden rolled his eyes. "Don't need to be a fuckin' slave soldier anymore, mate. Those cunts are dead." He snarled out the oblique reference to the masters of Slaver's Bay, causing the ghost of a smile to cross Grey Worm's face. "Stop being so fuckin' modest. If it weren't for you and the other cockless bastards, all our eyes 'ad've been glowin' blue." He slapped Grey Worm on the back again, this time the Unsullied commander ready for it.

Much as he… did not expect the praise, his upbringing did render Grey Worm's self-aggrandizement nonexistent. "Well… I am glad my men fought and beat the dead. But we only follow what the Queen tells us."

"Thank the fuckin' old gods for her," Marden commented. "She and the King, fuckin' heroes if you ask me. Didn't get into the big feast in the great hall, or I would've told them myself."

This stunned Grey Worm. "You… but the Lords…"

"Pfft," Cassel waved him off. "Bunch of grouches with sticks up their asses."

Marden nodded. "Anyone who didn't fight against the fucking Lannister-licking Bolton cunts with our King lost the right to yammer bout Northern Independence." The old man grew wary, eyes sad. "Lost my wife to the post Bolton famine… almost lost my little ones." Grief crossed his face, before molding into gratitude. "Dragon Queen saved em' from becoming those fucking monsters, so I owe her everything. Same as you, I gather."

Blinking, Grey Worm was speechless. "I… yes. She gave us freedom, a choice. After years of slavery, we choose her."

"Did the same for Lord Snow a while back. Never regretted it." Sadness leaving him, Marden motioned to a smattering of tents. "Cookin' a deer I shot with mi' mates. Bring your officers, got plenty to go around."

For the first time since the Greyjoy ambush at Dragonstone, Grey Worm smiled genuinely. "Perhaps I take up on that."

* * *

"Will you fuckers untie me," Jaime Lannister calmly stated. Here he was, a man that had fought off the fucking white walkers, captured by a patrol of thugs in the wods just south of Hayford Castle. So embarrassing for the infamous knight. "Would you want to tell the Queen that you roughed up her beloved twin brother?"

"We know exactly what the Queen would do after seeing her twin brother," laughed one of the soldiers, making Jaime wince. "But I'm envisioning the gold she'll give for a spy for the Dragon Bitch. Don't all Lannisters shit gold?"

"Well, since I'm a Lannister and shit like everyone else, I know for a fact they don't." Jaime couldn't help the cheeky arrogance. He had been that way for so long it came naturally - before her, that is.

The guard closest to him slammed his fists into Jaime's gut. "Shut the fuck up." Without the cloak of his highborn blood, the arrogant Jaime may not have survived long enough.

Ahead, the Gate of the Gods drew closer and closer, looming over the horseback patrol like the Colossus of Braavos. "Who goes there?!" demanded a guard from atop.

"Got a Targaryen spy!" the leader of the patrol said, proudly.

"Well it's your lucky fuckin' day. Got a highborn here with us. He'll make sure you're paid!" The guard looked back inside. "OPEN THE GATE!"

Creaking open, the iron-paneled oak swung aside to reveal three men on horseback - two carrying lion banners and the other a large man in full plate armor, plume of horsehair topping his helmet. Jaime hid a grin, knowing that figure anywhere.

The patrolmen bowed on their horses. "We have a Targaryen spy to present to you, mi'Lord." He rose, rotten teeth bared in a sneer, thinking of all the riches they would get.

Trotting over, eyes masked by the helmet visor, the highborn knight watched the men suspiciously before he stilled. The visored face stared at Jaime for seemingly minutes before he pulled off his helmet - revealing a gruffly handsome face with a thick handlebar mustache. "Ser Jaime!"

"Good to see you again, Lyle. I wish it was…" He lifted his bound hands. "Under better circumstances."

"Get this man untied you fools!" Ser Lyle Crakehall hissed. The patrol just stared at the heir to their leige lord, slack jawed. The dirty, disheveled man caught in the bushes outside Hayford Castle was the Kingslayer? Unbelievable. Such silence flushed Ser Lyle a furious red. "Are you cunts hard of hearing? Do it before I have you flogged!" With a reputation that rivaled the Mountain, the 'Strongboar' of Crakehall was not one to be challenged.

"Feels good to be free of those binds," Jaime mused nearly half an hour later, rubbing his still sore wrists.

"Sorry about that, once again, Ser Jaime," replied Lyle. Surrounding them was a full escort of the elite Crakehall shock forces - the only men still at full strength, having been ahead of the main army during the Goldroad. The man had squired for the great Lannister knight, such breeding a great respect and lasting friendship. "Fucks probably didn't expect you."

Rolling his eyes, Jaime snorted. "The golden hand should have said something." Looking around, he noticed the streets deserted. Nothing but rats and the occasional scrawny street urchin broke the foreboding serenity. "Where is everybody?"

Lyle grimaced. "Your sister put the city on direct military rule, but with Harry Strickland in charge." Jaime winced. The Golden Company was known for its… rather uncompromising tactics. Lyle looked around, leaning to Jaime's ear on horseback, dropping to a whisper. "Things aren't good, Jaime. Between you and me, the Queen is unpredictable. You need to calm her down, cause I don't trust Strickland or the damn Ironborn to have what's best for all of us at heart."

Looking at his old squire, Jaime nodded. _If I do what I need to do, I think Lyle can have my back._ The men of the Westerlands were loyal, but not monsters. Tywin earned their respect by returning the loyalty with generosity and honor. Jaime doubted Cersei knew what the latter words meant.

_Neither did I… until…_ He shook the name from his mind. Thinking of her would only depress him.

Ser Lyle had left him at the approach to Maegor's Holdfast, Cersei's Queensguard taking over from there. Men who had long left the bounds of chivalry behind, adapting well to the bounds of brutality. He missed Ser Barristan, and Ser Arthur… men of honor. There was none left among the Red Keep these days.

Surprising him, the Queensguard guided him not to the throne room, but to Cersei's private solar. It was heartening, hope welling inside Jamie that she wouldn't execute him immediately - that he could bide his time for the right moment. Outside the room - one he knew… quite intimately from the time before Highgarden - Ser Aerys Oakheart took Widow's Wail from him. "Just a precaution, Ser Jaime," the man apologized. Nodding, Jaime entered the solar to await what would come of him.

The first thing he noticed was the towering figure of Gregor Clegane, still in his black and silver armor with the white lion emblazoned on the front. Red eyes stared at him… unsettling. Malevolent. Jaime didn't know whether these or the blue of the wights unsettled him more. Beyond Ser Gregor, leaning against a loveseat, was Cersei. Hands clasped together and resting upon her black dress. Belly swollen with their child. _She wasn't lying._ Love filled him for the innocent babe within, while he suppressed a burning hate for the woman that had put him in this mess.

"You returned."

He sighed. "Aye, I have." Jaime stepped forward, only to be hated by her raised hand. Need not threaten the Mountain. "I swore to fight the dead, but I am still a Lannister." A Lannister always pays his debts. Cersei was yet to pay hers.

"You still left. To fight alongside her." Cersei's voice was cold. Not a flicker of the former love and sweetness he had known.

"What do you want me to say, Cersei? You saw that thing in the Dragonpit. I saw those monsters over a hundred thousand strong. They swarmed over the fucking dragons. Humanity needed our men, and you kept them south."

Her eyes narrowed. "Doesn't matter. The 'dead' are truly dead now. All that remains are the living, and you betrayed the side of such that truly deserves to rule." Cersei clapped her hands. "Men, restrain Ser Jaime." Four Queensguard rushed in, hands gripping Jaime tightly. Despite his thrashes and wild punches, they had managed to hold him in place. Ser Boros Blount extended his arms, Jaime realizing what was going on. "Those that betray me get the same punishment. Ser Gregor." The massive beast drew his sword, readying it to come down upon Jaime's arms.

Eyes scrunching shut, Jaime gritted his teeth… not willing to give any of these scum the satisfaction of seeing a Lannister Knight cry or scream...

The Mountain's blade fell, the crunching sound of metal sheared in two echoing through the solar. But no pain. Not even the numb feeling that Jaime knew happened in the immediacy of a wound. Eyes fluttering open, he saw that his gold prosthetic had been chopped in two - his intact left arm remained just that. Intact.

Cersei stared at him, eyes hard. "Betray me again, and it won't be metal that I have Ser Gregor decapitate." A tense silence hung in the air before her scowl morphed into a loving smile. The Queensguard broke apart as Cersei embraced him. "Oh Jaime… my lion. I missed you."

Familiarity and over two decades of love caused Jaime to almost melt into the embrace. The woman he adored for so long - fought, struggled, murdered for, back in his arms and feeling just as soft and lovely as ever… _Stop it, Lannister._ "I missed you as well, sister," Jaime replied, Cersei then pulling him into a kiss. His honor, the renewed purpose built up in him in the last few years, reasserted itself. This wasn't the sweet girl he grew up with. No, this was the monster that broke her oaths, didn't cry at Tommen's death, and blew up the Sept of Baelor without a second thought. One who'd burn the city down if it didn't back her. Her tongue danced against his, and he reciprocated, hiding the disgust he felt.

Kiss breaking, no recognition on her face of Jaime's disgust, Cersei grinned seductively and slipped her fingers around his bicep. "Do not fret, my love. I shall have the royal smith get to work forging another hand for you. One far grander and befitting of a lion."

"You are most kind, sweet sister," Jaime answered, allowing her to guide him out of the solar and through the hallways. The plodding feet of Ser Gregor echoed behind them. "I couldn't help but notice all the ballistae lining the walls of the city and the keep."

"Ah those." Cersei laughed merrily. "Qyburn made sure to place enough to ward off any dragon assault, though… I wouldn't have to worry about that anymore. The dragons will not attack."

Jaime was confused by the statement. Neither Daenerys or Jon would be inclined to burn civilians, but there was always the possibility that the Dragon Queen would grow impatient and just attack until their forces surrendered. "Why is that?"

The grin that she gave Jaime made him inwardly shudder. The look in her green eyes one he had only seen before in purple - pure madness. "Because, the neither the Stark Bastard nor dragons would not dare attack us while Daenerys Targaryen dwells within the black cells."

_Oh fuck..._

* * *

_Sharp clangs echoed in the Godswood, steel on ice as Jon fought for his very life. Staring into the blue malevolence of the Night King, an icy rage filling both. A furious swipe of his sword went for Jon, only for Valyrian Steel to parry it at the last minute. Jon saving himself only just - but an opportunity not wasted, using the opening to drive his foe back._

_All had come to this. His resurrection, meeting Dany… Seven Hells, even his heritage… How Rhaegal summoned his strength to charge at Viserion's undead corpse in the courtyard - the sounds of their titanic battle booming. How Theon gave his life. How the wights all around them had their eyes glowing a pale white, assaulting the walkers and keeping them off Jon._

_Rage burning beneath his eyes, Jon snarled as he swung and hacked and thrust at the Night King. Ready to end this._

_Ready to claim his destiny._

_The Night King spun his ice blade in his wrists, twirling behind to both feint a slash and actually thrust for Jon's open stomach. But Jon was no slouch, the master swordsman quickly knocking back the attacking sword to the ground… Karl Tanner's lessons coming to roost as he waited not to kick the Night King in the chest. The demon staggered, chest exposed to Jon as he swung Longclaw. Slashing. One miss. Slashing again. Another miss. Slashing a third time, the tip of the blade grazing the ice monster's cuirass, cutting through it to leave a long scratch upon his open torso. Snarling, Jon readied a final blow that would destroy the Night King..._

_Out of nowhere, a right hook to the jaw sent Jon reeling, the northern warrior sprawling on the ground. Everything hurt, dragonfire burning in his vision. "Jon!" He heard Bran yell, emotion finally filling his long lost brother. Pushing onto his feet, he could see the boy was not alone, joined by the Lady Melisandre._

_"Do it, my King," she breathed, baring her breast to him. As the slow footfall of the Night King stepped toward him, a vision flashed through Jon. Bran stood next to him as they watched a man - a mane of silver hair flowing from his head, tears in his eyes - plunged a molten sword into the breast of a woman. A woman giving herself willingly, her screams of ecstasy echoing through the small hovel while the sword burned a bright red. In an instant, the vision was over. Knowing what he had to do, he grabbed Longclaw and rammed it into Melisandre's heart. Feeling the explosion of heat..._

_Behind, Arya Stark watched with horror. Dodging the wights and wakers, she raised Catspaw high and charged out of the void, screaming the battlecry of northern warriors past as she leapt at the Night King. Determined to save her beloved brother._

_Quick on his feet to confront the new threat, the Night King caught Arya by the throat. Eyes boring into her. Enraged. Cold fire swirling through the ice crystals that made up his body. The young woman's eyes bugged out. Her battlecry morphing into gasps of fear._

_With a cry of his own, Jon felt a great fire ignite along the finely rippled metal of Longclaw. Valyrian steel consumed with fire as he drew it from Melisandre's breast. Fire engulfing his very core. Fire consuming his soul. Too concentrated on Arya, the Night King turned his head - eyes widening at the very last second in belated realization - just as Jon thrust his trusty blade straight for his torso. Flaming steel slicing through the enchanted ice as a knife through butter. Eyes dark with anger and grit as he watched the Night King's expression contort with pain and surprise before dissolving into nothingness._

_And before him, all the walkers exploded. The dead collapsed into heaps of bone and flesh. Sounds of a dragon battle ceasing as one warbled shriek abruptly cut out - punctuated by a roar of triumph that somewhat calmed Jon's beating heart. Slowly, surely, he stood. Breathing deeply, numb to the world. Arya clutched her neck - Jon was quickly beside her, taking his sister in his arms. "You alright?"_

_"Yeah…" Arya couldn't help but grin. "Ya' stuck 'im with the pointy end." Jon chuckled, despite himself. At points like this, one could only either laugh or cry._

_Looking back at Bran, the young Stark gave him a small smile._

_The Long Night was over._

_They had brought the Dawn._

_But only one thing was on Jon's mind. "Go to her," Bran stated, urging him. Jon didn't need to be told twice. With whatever energy he had left, he raced out of the godswood to find his love._

_Staggering, fatigue overwhelming him in a sudden wave, Jon nevertheless trudged the last steps up the hill. Boots crunching in the snow. Bones and broken corpses surrounding the summit - where Daenerys knelt. The ethereal white of her coat streaked with soot, torn in several places. A discarded dragonglass blade resting beside her. "Oh Dany," he breathed._

_He stood over her, finally seeing the body of Jorah. A son of the North - laid to rest in the North. Jon would have found it fitting, if not for the sobs that wracked his love._

_"Dany…" he spoke softly, touching her shoulder._

_"He's dead Jon…" she choked out. "They're all dead…"_

_Falling onto his knees, Jon pulled her in his arms. Letting her cry on his shoulder. "We're alive…" he breathed, stroking her back as she wailed into his neck. "We're alive…"_

_Hooting a mournful cry, Rhaegal and Drogon landed, kicking up clouds of snow as they encircled their wings around their riders…._

Eyes flew open as Jon woke, gasping for breath. The racing of his heart began to calm, spotting the flickering candles and the parchment he had his cheek pressed against not one minute before. "Fuck…" Jon cupped his head, skull throbbing. "Never again…" Ale… too much ale. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Never fucking again."

The gentle clatter of a bronze serving cup jolted him. Nearly sending the acting ruler off his chair. "Do not worry, my Lord." Bloodshot eyes gazed up to find the serene, slightly guarded gaze of Missandei upon him. As nonthreatening a person as one could find. "The servants informed me of the food and drink you requested to your chambers last night." The fact that the orders were all of the latter and that the chambers he took as his own were the Queen's did not pass her lips, though Jon knew they were thought. "Chilled spring water. Better than anything for an afterpain."

Jon accepted the cup, taking a sip. The cold liquid soothed his dry throat, nourishing feeling coursing through his body. "Thank you," he said softly, feeling his headache slowly ease to a dull throb. "Did we receive any ravens?"

Missandei pursed her lips, sighing. While the Queen was always up for a chat, whether about history, philosophy, or even personal matters, the former King in the North was more introverted. Always quiet, only speaking if it regarded important matters of state or war. Even alone, he worked, often with the brooding scowl that all were now accustomed to. _Except when he was with the Queen…_ Only then did Missandei ever see Jon Snow lsmile. _He truly does love her._ "One raven, my Lord. From Harrenhal."

One eyebrow rose. "And?"

"It was from Lord Royce. They've set up at Harrenhal."

His brows furrowing, Jon drained the remaining water. "Cersei must want to keep her forces as one single unit. Smart, if she has ballistae around the capitol… or mobile ones." Neither Cersei nor Euron were excellent land tacticians, but Qyburn was crafty and Roland Crakehall and Addam Marbrand were excellent generals. He wouldn't underestimate them. "Anything else?"

"Yes. Royce moved half of his knights - including his own force from Runestone - to Sow's Horn north of the Dusken River. Joining them were a third of the Riverlanders under Lord Piper and several houses of the Crownlands that defected."

"Which ones?"

"House Mooton of Maidenpool, House Rykker of Duskendale, and House Velaryon of Driftmark."

"Cersei's losing support in her home base." _House Rykker, still loyal to the Targaryens._ "The Westerlands are essentially cut off, and so is she." He grimaced. "That could hurt us though, for she's now a cornered rat…" _And we only have one dragon…_ He felt his headache returning. "That will be all, Missandei." He just wanted to be alone. To brood until he could leave this dark, empty prison - without her, it was nothing but a crypt to him.

Turning her back for a moment, halfway to the door, Missandei turned. A frown adorned her face. "I heard what Lord Varys and Lord Tyrion discussed with you."

Had Jon had any water left to drink, he'd have choked on it. As things stood, he almost fell out of his chair a second time.

"Lord Tyrion has gotten old, and drunk. No longer makes sure to check if the door is closed." To Missandei, it didn't matter if his name was Stark, Snow, or Targaryen - but she would be damned if she'd let him drift away from her Queen. "You should not be worried, Lord Snow. I shall say nothing." She stepped towards him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "But I am worried about you. What you will decide to do with this information."

Grief filled his face, an indecision that normally did not come to him. "I don't want to rule. Tyrion says I should, and Varys says I must. Sansa and the northern Lords do not trust Daenerys, and if Cersei doesn't kill her then I'm afraid someone will…" A thought came to mind, one that shattered him for even thinking such… but it came nonetheless. "Could anyone follow a Queen that burns men alive?"

There was silence, neither one speaking. Jon did not know how long, but it was Missandei that broke the silence. "Let me tell you two stories, Jon Snow," she said quietly. "In Astapor, the Unsullied were trained by the so-called 'Good Masters.' I saw the training personally, they…" She winced, imagining Grey Worm suffering so. "They forced each recruit to take a slave baby and kill it in front of the mother…"

Jon paled, absolutely horrified. _Ramsay Bolton would be proud._

Missandei continued. "Daenerys bought the Unsullied with a trick, then turned them on the Masters, killing them all. Some may call it madness… but I call it justice."

Lips a thin line, Jon nodded as well. "I would have done the same, Missandei. Monsters like that…" Images of Ramsay, his face being beaten in by Jon's fists - he regretted none of it. Ramsay deserved what he and Sansa gave him as the masters of Astapor deserved what Dany gave them. "I do not find her 'mad' for doing what I would have done."

"It isn't just her sense of justice, Lord Snow." Wiping a tear from her face, Missandei looked at the Targaryen sigil adorning the wall. "There were a few slaves, crucified." The preferred method of killing slaves in the Ghiscari tradition. Just thinking about it made Jon's blood boil. "The Queen did not hesitate. She grabbed a ladder, and gave the dying souls a drink. Without even asking." She looked down at Jon, awe on his face - the dour northman, his brooding armor pierced through stories that Dany herself was likely too modest to discuss. "Daenerys Targaryen is two sides of the same coin. Great strength, but also great kindness. Anyone who would deny her one side of that identity is a fool… and one you should not trust, Aegon Targaryen."

Long after Missandei had left, Jon still remained at the desk, head in his hands. Everything a mess… everything. His mind as jumbled as ever before.

**A/N: We really needed a moment between Jon and Missandei. The translator could be counted on to back Dany up.**

**Tyrion seems more resigned to anything happening being shit but still loyal... Varys... well he's clearly happy at the turn of events.**

**BAs my friend Dakkman77 pointed out, the way they portrayed the Northerners interacting with Dany's army was just dumb (out of so many dumb things). Even if they did hate each other initially, after fighting together the feelings should have developed into respect. Planned on showing it. Tormund with Dothraki wives is just too funny. Imagine the kids! Remember Marden Tanner. Grey Worm will deal with him a lot more.**

**Cersei is clearly Mad Queen at this moment.**

**Fixed up the death of the Night King. Plus a little scene between Jon and Dany.**

**Be sure to read my other two stories, Empire of Ice and Fire and Heart of the Blessed (collaboration with BRuh4). **

**If I can get 20 reviews, I will update Empire tomorrow :D**

**Next time, another flashback, plus Davos arrives.**


	4. Ch 4: A Dragon's Edge

**A/N: Hi all. Big chapter for Jon and Dany.**

**Just making an announcement: I will be taking the Texas Bar Exam next week, so I will likely not be able to update my stories until the weekend after next. The updates will come, though, I promise :)**

**I hope everyone likes. Be sure to review, follow, and fav with your thoughts :D**

Chapter 4: A Dragon's Edge

_The Dragon Queen had never seen Jon so… uninhibited outside their bed. Cup overflowing with ale, soon he was quite tipsy, laughing with Davos, getting into an armwrestling contest with the Hound that he ended up winning, and singing bawdy wildling folk songs with Tormund and the other Free Folk. Daenerys should have been overjoyed, watching him with sparkling eyes with barely contained lust in her gaze…_

Aegon Targaryen…

True heir to the Iron Throne…

Blood of my blood…

_The words killed whatever happiness or relief could be felt. Dany sighed. The life of a ruler, each victory only meaning another struggle. Another impossible decision._

_"TO JON SNOW AND THE DRAGON QUEEN!" boomed Tormund. How he was still walking after drinking so much, Daenerys didn't know. "Only a fuckin' insane motherfuckin' cunt would battle those assholes on a damn dragon! Or a motherfuckin' King and Queen!" Cheers rang out, though some only half-hearted. Would such cheers be unanimous for Jon alone? For her… nephew alone?_

_But polite she was. Toasts she did give, to Jon and Arya. To the wounded Lyanna Mormont, slayer of an undead giant. To the memory of thousands of dead. __At the first opportunity, Dany rose and ducked out. Leaving Tyrion with his brother. Leaving Missandei pulling a reluctant Grey Worm into a northern jig, both drunk. Leaving Jon to… immediately notice and follow. Even drunk, he was attuned with her. Daenerys would smile at it… if under the surface she wasn't about to break his heart._

_There was nothing in the world that Dany wished less than to break the heart of the man she loved. But for Daenerys of House Targaryen, Dragon Queen, there seemed to be no other way._

_Hearing him shut the door behind her, Dany just stared at the flames. The hearth crackling as she felt the strong arms wrap around her waist. Despite herself, the Queen melted in his hold. "Thank you for coming." Her voice was colder than she intended - but Daenerys couldn't help the swirling emotions within, threatening to consume her._

_Good, introverted man that he was, Jon didn't comment on it. "I was so afraid, Daenerys." 'Daenerys,' not 'Dany.' He hadn't called her Dany since Samwell told him of his blood. Their blood. No matter the love around her formal name, it still felt icy. Devoid of affection. "I almost lost you."_

_Daenerys felt a tear prick her eyelid. "We… we did not lose each other, Jon. We lived… others died, but we lived."_

_"I'm sorry about Ser Jorah." Dany turned in his arms, facing him. The sorrow in his grey eyes was genuine. He couldn't hide anything, not with her. "I owe him everything for protecting you, and yet I cannot pay him back."_

_"He wouldn't have collected on that obligation, Jon. Jorah… he was one of the few who I could trust with the real me. Him, Ser Barristan, my former handmaidens, and even my brother…" She closed her eyes, only opening them when she felt his hands stroking her sides. "All are gone. All except Missandei… and you."_

_Jon blinked, looking as if he wanted to kiss her… but refraining. "I don't know about Missandei, but you have me, Daenerys. I made that promise."_

_Jon Snow was a man of honor who would keep his promises. But still… "Jorah loved me. Loved me like a man would a woman." Dany looked away, not wanting to see his reaction. "But I couldn't love him like that…" She looked back to him, cupping his cheek. Letting his prickly stubble ghost against her palm. "Not like how I love you…"_

_No longer refraining, Jon closed the distance between them. Their lips meeting. Hands weaving into her hair, tugging at the braids while his tongue demanded entrance. What she was about to do… Daenerys knew this would only add to the hurt. But, she was weak. Her love, her desire for him was so strong. Dany's mouth opened, inviting him in. Losing herself in his passion._

_For her, the moments passed by as a delirious dream. Clothes being stripped off with a frantic reverence. Jon insistent but soft, exploring each strip of skin bared to him with his hands, lips, and tongue. Dany hitched her breath, almost bursting into tears as he worshipped her breasts. Her legs gave way, falling against the cold stone of the castle walls when her beautiful white wolf dropped to his knees - tongue snaking into her wet core. She dug her hands in his wild curls._

_Several minutes of sheer bliss later, they had tumbled onto the bed. Both as naked as their name day. His hands all over her. Her hands digging into his back, leaving red lines. Jon Snow was the perfect lover. Passionate but gentle. Hungry but loving. Utterly ravenous but reverently adoring. So deep inside her, Daenerys gasped into his mouth as he hit spots only he could ever reach. Left her a moaning mess. Coaxing sounds out of the Mother of Dragons only before screamed by wanton whores._

_He ruined her for any other lover. Taking her over the edge, her climax as much of a rush as any ride upon Drogon…_

Blood of the dragon.

_Jon, her beloved, was a dragon - just like her. In such a sense, it was perfect. Their love almost fate. Wonderful, tragic fate._

_There they rested, side by side, breathing hot against the other's skin. Pressed into the crook of his shoulder, Dany inhaled every bit of his scent - committing it to memory. It hurt. Hurt more than she knew, but she selfishly took the one last bit of him that she could. "You are the true King." Her voice was but a whisper. "Aegon."_

_He stiffened, pulling back to cup her cheek. Stare into her eyes with his beautiful greys. "I don't want it." His thumb stroked her skin, and damn it all, she nearly moaned at how wonderful it felt. "You are a Queen… My Queen."_

_"It's not that simple." She bit her lip, hating how vulnerable she felt. "Your Lords, your sister. They will want you on the throne, find some way…"_

_"They wouldn't if I tell them not to."_

_"You may be sucked into events you do not wish to be a part of. It's the story of our family. Your family."_

_There was silence. A look of pensive contemplation on Jon's handsome face. Dany resisted the urge to kiss him again. "Marry me," he blurted._

_She blinked, tears in her eyes. "Marry?"_

_"Aye," he nodded, certain. "Fuck what they say. Marry me, Daenerys Targaryen. Unite our claims. You will be the greatest Queen in the history of Westeros, and I will rule by your side if it means being by your side."_

Oh, Jon. _So selfless. It was one of the reasons she loved him desperately. But it wasn't to be. "Jon…" In one instant his heart was shattered, and hers was shattered by such. "I cannot have children."_

_"That cunt was lying," he snarled._

_While normally his conviction made her swell with love, Dany… just couldn't. "It's true, Jon. My line dies with me. But you are the Last Dragon. You can marry and restore House Targaryen." She grabbed his face, eyes wide and frantic. "Do this, Jon. Forget me, and do your duty for our family."_

_Jon looked at her as if she spouted two heads. "All my life, I have fought according to the duty others have imposed on me. But now, with the Long Night gone I can see clearly for the first time. You are my duty, Dany. I don't fucking care about anything else." He received no answer. "Are you seriously considering this?"_

_"I don't want to!" she told him fiercely, close to tears. "But it has to be done."_

_"No." He would not bend. "I swore before the weirwood that I would hold no lands and father no children. I would only break that promise for you." She closed her eyes, his words both loving and painful. "If I can't have you, then I will have lost nothing more than what I was already prepared to."_

_And her eyes opened, love and desire gone. Replaced with an iron determination. A burning, simmering anger. "If you won't do right by our House, Jon Snow, then I will."_

_Her harsh tone seemed to wound him. "Dany…"_

_"Leave me, Lord Snow." Rising, Daenerys grabbed her bedsheet, wrapping it around her body. "I will reclaim the throne for House Targaryen. Unlike you, I know the duty I have to our family legacy. I am not a selfish fool chasing after impossible dreams." Love had brought her nothing but pain. But death. Only through fire and blood had she secured victory for herself, her house, and her people._

_Without another word, Jon rose himself. Quickly but not hurriedly donning his clothes as best he could. When he finally spoke, all warmth - all affection gone from the northern brogue she loved so much - had frozen into the icy nothingness of his wolfsblood. "Your Grace," he bowed, leaving the room._

_Leaving her..._

Laying in the black cells, it was all Daenerys could think about. The memory played itself out in her mind over and over again. Torturing her. Shattering her more than Cersei's degradations ever could. Tears poured from her eyes, the mighty Dragon Queen destroyed by her own obsession and mindless oaths.

Love is the death of duty… duty is the death of love.

Ned Stark, destroyed by a useless oath.

Jon, exiled to the far corners of the earth by a useless oath.

Herself, giving up the man she loved more than life itself by a useless oath.

By a useless duty, the last memory Jon had of them being her breaking his heart. Daenerys hated herself. Hated what she had become. All for that worthless iron chair forged by Aegon to Conqueror as the symbol of the wheel he created. The wheel Daenerys wished to destroy…

_I would give it all up to feel his touch again._

And clutching her belly, fingers running along the ever so slight swell of their child, only one thing remained in her mind.

_All for nothing._

She had destroyed Jon, destroyed herself, all for nothing. And that was the greatest pain of all.

* * *

The halls of Dragonstone felt so familiar, yet so different at the same time. Direwolf companion trotting next to him, Davos Seaworth had arrived yet again, only to see something resembling a crypt. _Given what Tyrion told me… what Varys told me… only hightens that._ As the Unsullied guards threw open the door to the monarch's chambers, the acting Hand knew a lot rested on his aging shoulders.

Immediately, the direwolf made a beeline for his master. "Ghost!" Jon's sullen, brooding exterior vanished with a bright smile at the sight of his direwolf as the beast nearly knocked him over from excitement. "Missed you, ya' big furball." Davos smiled himself while Jon began rubbing Ghost's fur, the direwolf's tail wagging. _Ya can tell a man's goodness and honor by how he treats his animals._

Daenerys had loved Ghost, and her dragons. Such a fact wasn't lost on Davos.

Clearing his throat, Davos watched as Jon looked up from his faithful companion, sudden joy falling as the new Hand conveyed his concerns with just a look. "Ghost, bed," he commanded. The direwolf, whimpering at Jon, nevertheless complied - sensing the tension. "I'm glad to see you, Davos."

"You look like pickled shit, Jon," replied the Onion Knight, coaxing a snort from the younger man. "Let me just say, from what I heard about Daenerys… I'm sorry." To see Jon in such agony… if there was one person on this earth that didn't deserve pain, it was him. "But to find out that I have been named acting Hand by you, and to be bombarded by Varys about 'taking advantage of this great opportunity' makes me wonder what the fuck is going on?"

Sighing, Jon motioned for Davos to take a seat. "I would swear you to secrecy, but there is no fucking point anymore." _Everyone already knows._ "Do not say anything till I finish…"

As each new bit of information was told to him, the further and further did Davos collapse into complete speechlessness. The depths of Ned Stark's elaborate deception of the entire known world took every word out of him. By the end, he was gaping like a fish, eyes wide and staring at Jon as if he was a whole new person. A look of stunned wonder, of… awe.

Jon felt uncomfortable at the gaze. His most… hells, his only trusted advisor, their familiarity fraying before him. "Davos… say something."

"This explains it, now." He let out a dry half-cough, half-laugh. "Riding a dragon, your connection with the Dragon Queen… dear Gods, Jon. You're the rightful King!"

"No!" Jon shook his head. "No I'm not, Daenerys is! I never wanted this, Davos." He stood, walking to the window. "Varys thinks I should throw Dany to the lions and take control… but as a wolf in dragon's clothing. I believe Tyrion thinks the same."

_So that's what the eunuch was simpering about._ "Anyone say differently?"

"Missandei. She wants me to keep my trust in Dany…" Jon clenched his fist, anguish on his pale face. "I love her, Davos. Gods… I love Daenerys, my aunt."

"You're a Targaryen, it's in the blood." Davos shrugged. "I've been married to my wife for decades, but I've never seen a couple so devoted and loving that you and the Queen." Thinking of what Varys and Tyrion said, Davos saw only chaos and conflict arising out of either asserting their claim independent of the other. Both for the world… and for Jon and Daenerys themselves. _Am I the only one who cares about them?_ "You have to take the throne together."

Resting his head upon the stone wall, the wounds left by his brothers ached. A burning, unbearable ache - as if his entire soul was aflame. "It's not that simple, Davos. So many would dissent..."

"Both of you ride dragons. That tends to make dissent disappear." His attempt at a humorous truth did not break Jon's walls. _Jon's walls. His bastard armor... Perhaps that is what's holding him back._ "You are a dragon, Jon. Blood of the wolf, but a trueborn dragon."

A laughter rang out from Jon, low and heavy… not reaching his eyes. "The lowly Bastard of Winterfell, hated and reviled by all. First he's promised to kill the Night King, and now he is the fucking King!"

"Well you're not a bastard!" Davos replied, forcefully. "All you had holding you back, Jon, was that inferiority complex that damn last name gave you, and it's gone now. You are Aegon Targaryen! You're free of all of that fucking armor!"

"And what would I have without that armor? Madness. Fire? Deaths of thousands on my hands?" Although he hated to say it, Varys' constant haranguing did have an effect. He slumped his shoulders. "I have no name, no family. All that's left is honor, and what does it get me? Betrayed and forced to watch as my beloved is being held by the most rancid bitch in the Seven Kingdoms."

_Fuck, it's worse than dealin' with Stannis and Steffon when they won't eat their supper._ "Your Grace, you talk of your honor, and I respect that. Few people left in this shite world that still have it, but by the gods, there's a time and a place for everything."

"What am I without honor, Davos?" Jon braced himself against the lip above the hearth. Staring aimlessly at the blood-red three-headed dragon banner of his lover. Of his house. "I cannot fall into the same traps as my father and brother, but what kind of man would I be if I didn't show honor?"

"Alive!" He took a deep breath, calming himself. "You'd be alive. Do ya' think honor was how the Kings of Winter responded when Royce Bolton burned Winterfell. No, they fuckin' took it back and gave the Red King's heir the bloody eagle." Shireen's teachings had ignited a fire in him, Davos struggling and striving to learn as much history as possible. "House Stark built itself on ruthlessness, Jon. As a ruler… as a King, you need to show honor but also strength."

A sad smile appeared on Jon's face. "And I have shown neither. I betrayed Daenerys, over and over again. I failed to keep my promise to her. I failed to love her. Failed to even show any connection with our shared blood. Failed to keep the secret…" He did not know why Sansa told Tyrion, but the betrayal stung all the same. "Failed to prevent those that are supposed to advise the rightful ruler from betraying Daenerys." He covered his face in his hands, not seeing Davos' anger reach the boiling point. "I am not worthy. I will never be worthy…"

"Your mother's sigil is a wolf!" Davos thundered suddenly. "Your father's a dragon! YOU. ARE. BOTH! A Dragonwolf!" He could see the words getting through to the boy. Piercing that damned bastard armor. "People are gonna tell you who to be to be a good ruler. Fuck. Em. Embrace what you truly are! The mix of two vicious bloodlines! Bloodlines that answer to neither gods nor men!"

"What would you have me do?!" Jon yelled back. Backed into a corner, pounded over and over again by the man he saw as a surrogate father - his most trusted advisor - Jon felt his finely honed control slipping away. Just as he found when learning of Dany's capture. "I don't know how to be a fucking Targaryen! I barely know how to be a Stark!" Always, the half-breed bastard of Eddard Stark. Beaten into him for so long. "All I know is being a bastard..."

He was cut off when Davos grabbed Jon by the shoulders and shook him violently. "Well then wake the fuck up, ya' dumb cunt bastard!" A slap rang out, handprint forming on Jon's cheek.

Jon gaped, shocked beyond belief that the loyal Onion Knight actually laid a hand on him.

That did not faze Davos. "Would you rather cower as those who seek to destroy you, and those whom you hold dear - whom you love?!" The boy loved the Queen. He could see it as plain as day, and here he sulked while she was only one step away from death? Davos couldn't tolerate it. "Will you let them do as they please? Or...will you strike back with a fury that makes the Seven Kingdoms tremble?!"

There was a distinct, tense silence. Both men staring at each other, waiting for someone to say something… anything. "I…" Jon finally croaked, overwhelmed with emotion. "I would die for her, Davos… I would…"

Davos' gaze softened. Seeing not an ungrateful ingrate as with many of the highborn lords and ladies, but a tortured soul in need of a guiding hand. A man he saw as close to a son. "I know, lad, but you shouldn't. Ya' need to live for her."

Both were interrupted - knocked from their intense conversation - by a knock at the door. "Come in," Jon croaked, taking a swig of watered wine. Even diluted, it burned his throat.

Door opening, Varys revealed himself. Davos noticed Jon eyeing him warily. Not that the Onion Knight blamed him. "Lord Varys," he offered.

If Varys saw through Davos' duplicity, it did not register on his fleshy face. "Lord Seaworth," he responded. "Glad to see his Grace and the Hand in the same room."

Jon looked annoyed. "I am not…"

"State your business, Lord Varys," Davos blurted, interrupting Jon with crossed arms. _Daenerys being Queen doesn't preclude Jon from being King._ Was he the only person in this entire damn world who realized that? _Is the Realm filled with idiots?_

Twinkling eyes flickered from Davos to Jon, and then back again. "Raven from King's Landing. A request from Lord Qyburn, Cersei's Hand." Jon's eyes widened while Davos narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "She requests a parlay in front of the Gate of the Gods. I believe that it is unwise to appear."

Jon stepped forward. "Why is that?"

"There is no point. Cersei will not see reason, notwithstanding anything Tyrion might say. For his family, he has been an… optimist." The eunuch's face seemed flat, but Davos swore he saw the ghost of a smirk. "Jaime Lannister has been spotted in the Red Keep, if my birds are to be believed."

Eyes wide, Jon's fists clenched. "That son of a bitch… I should burn the entire Red Keep…" Jon stopped himself, suddenly reminded Dany resided in the cells. _Gods..._

"Give me that," the Onion Knight stated, snatching the report from Varys. "Let me read the bloody thing myself." If he was going to give Jon proper advice, never rely on the second hand reports of others if he could help it - especially for obvious manipulations.

"Perhaps I should read it to you…"

A shake of the head ended that. "I can read, Varys." The fancy loops and curves of Qyburn's penmanship was hard to decipher, but Davos made due.

Peering, oftentimes finding himself mouthing the words, halfway he began to feel a cold set through his veins. By the end, he was pale. "Well?" Jon watched expectantly. "Tell me, Davos…" The worried, beaten voice the true King gave off was music to Varys' ears.

And pain to Davos'. _If anything will snap him out of it, this is it._ "Cersei says that she will be bringing a guest from the Black Cells." It was like watching something inside Jon snap, revealing a half broken, half enraged soul watching them. _Varys you little shit._ Davos saw clearly what the eunuch meant. "'If you don't show up, then there will be an execution. Show up, and there might not be.'"

"Your Grace…"

But Jon didn't even entertain Varys, brushing past the both of them. Grabbing Longclaw off the ironwood dresser as he left the room.

* * *

Over half a dozen ballistae were mounted around the Gate of the Gods, Maegor Targaryen's intricate bas reliefs of the old gods of Valyria staring down at the gathered party of the new Targaryen monarch. Joined by Queen Cersei Lannister and her retinue atop the gatehouse.

Many luminaries serving Queen Daenerys Targaryen had arrived from Dragonstone by boat, but only one figure approached the opening gate to treat with Cersei's Hand. The balding, unassuming figure of Davos Seaworth. "Greetings, and welcome to the Gate of the Gods," Qyburn stated, extending his hand. Taking note of Davos' reluctance. "Please, I don't bite." Narrowing his eyes, Davos nevertheless took the man's proffered hand. "I am Qyburn, Hand to her Grace Cersei Lannister."

"Wouldn't wish such a job on anyone," Davos replied gruffly. "We all know what happened to your predecessors in the title."

A soft chuckle left Qyburn. "Well, I certainly admire your bluntness, Lord…"

The Onion Knight cleared his throat. "Davos, of House Seaworth. Acting Hand to her Grace Daenerys Targaryen. _Rightful Queen_ of Westeros." If all goes as I hope, she will be.

"Aren't you the man who counseled Stannis?" Both hands glanced up to see Cersei, staring down at them. Golden hair glinting in the sun. Her smirk looked half triumphant - dripping with arrogance - and half contemptuous. "I knew my late goodbrother kept the company of a former smuggler."

Looking up, eyes squinting in the noonday sun, Davos shielded them with his palm. "Aye, in another life, Lady Lannister." A not so subtle dig, one he was proud of.

Cersei was not amused. "Where is the Stark Bastard?"

"He'll be here momentarily," Davos replied, hoping that Jon wouldn't embarrass him by taking too long.

Hopes and wishes did sometimes come true. They did now.

A roar echoed over the flood plain, drawing frightened eyes and craning necks ever skyward. The nightmare of many a Lannister passed overhead. The great, green dragon, raised from infancy by his mother, devoid of the connection so craved by a Valyrian dragon. Until he had met his rider, currently atop his back. Clutched tightly to the spines of Rhaegal's neck. Still unused to the art of travel dragonback… but getting better.

Cersei, instinct to gape in fear pushed as far back as she could, merely glared in anger. Euron was already in action, directing the large ballistae to direct their aim upon the dragon - now settling to the ground hundreds of feet beyond the cluster of Unsullied and Targaryen advisors.

But it was Westerlands bannermen that operated the ballistae, not that of the Golden Company or Ironborn. Men still holding honor dearly. No one violated a truce.

Qyburn, to his credit, seemed only intrigued. "Your Queen's paramour has quite the flair about him. Odd... for a Stark." His eyes twinkled mischievously.

"Aye, he does." Davos eyed the disgraced maester warily. He knew too much, but clearly kept many things close to his chest. "House Stark didn't rise to power on honor alone."

"Very true." A smile formed on his face, one Davos found seemingly genuine. Also odd.

Jon was dressed head to toe in Stark colors. Head pulled back in a bun, direwolf emblazoned on his gorget and black leather cuirass. Thick trousers and leather boots completed the outfit, Longclaw displayed prominently on his hip, he looked like the northern lord he had for so long aspired to be.

Varys looked proud. Missandei shook her head in disappointment, while Tyrion did not know what to think. Two Unsullied guards took the place behind their leader, shock still and ready to bring their shields up to protect him from arrows if need be. Just as they would with Daenerys.

Pursing his lips, Qyburn nodded to Davos. "So, now that he is here, we may begin. You are a smart man, Lord Seaworth… you must know the position you are in."

"Aye, I do." Frankly, if not for their Queen - Jon's lady love - being imprisoned within the city, he'd have liked their chances far better than even when Stannis attacked the city years before. "Surrounded on all sides. Dependent on mercenaries and pirates? Not a good position, Lord Qyburn."

"We outnumber you. Even with the Reach and Dornish reinforcements." The flicker of surprise on Davos' face lasted but a moment, but Qyburn could pick it up. "Ah yes, I do know about that. One hundred war elephants are worth more than all of those, and our men are battle-hardened veterans."

Unable to help himself, Davos laughed. "Battle-hardened? Our men faced death itself, Qyburn. Plus, you forget one thing." Feeling a bit cheeky, Davos pointed behind him. Past the cluster of advisors and soldiers around Jon. "See that." Rhaegal rested on his front claws, amber eyes flickered between his rider and the men that caused his mother's pain. "That is a dragon. He misses his momma." His eyes flickered to Cersei. Speaking loudly so she could hear him. "When walking in the woods, you never approach a bear cub. Cause the momma bear will fuckin' kill you. Well, dragons are the exact opposite. Approach the momma, and the cub will fuckin' kill you. And we have two." Poppa dragon… Poppa wolf will also fuckin' kill you.

Qyburn arched an eyebrow. "Are you threatening the entire city, Lord Davos?"

"No, just giving your queen the consequences of not seeing reason."

There was a terse silence. Two sides staring each other down, waiting to see who would blink. Oddly, it was Missandei who broke it. "How do we know you have the Queen? We have not seen her."

Smirking, Cersei turned to Euron. "Bring her out." The hulking Ironborn grinned like a madman and disappeared - only to emerge with a wriggling, hooded figure in his arms. A tug of the hood over the bundle's head revealed Daenerys. Hair in tangles, gag over her face, eyes wide with fear… until they settled on the lone northerner. Jon…

Jon felt his breath hitch. Dany...The first time either had laid eyes upon the other since Daenerys had left Winterfell. Then, both were so hurt and angry. Now… all had changed.

"Satisfied?"

Looking at Dany, locking eyes with her, Jon gulped and stepped forward. "There need not be a battle, Cersei." Cersei. Not 'Your Grace. Not even 'Lady Lannister.' Davos was impressed at his balls. "Send your champion to fight me. Whomever wins, gets to dictate the terms to the other." He cocked his head, hiding his fear well. "I offered the same to Ramsay Bolton. He refused, and now his bones rot in the ground after his dogs ate him. Wouldn't you rather gamble with a game you can win?"

Gods, he is a true king. Daenerys hoped Jon could see how much she loved him. How proud she was to call him her king and her beloved. "You think you scare me, bastard!" Cersei snarled beside her. Face contorted in indignation and rage. "Compare me to some half-blooded northern scum? I am a pureblood Lannister of Casterly Rock!"

But suddenly, the rage disappeared. Snarl transforming into the darkest of smirks. One Daenerys remembered vividly. The same look on Viserys' face. The one she dreamed her father would make. The one worn by the Night King.

Perfectly manicured nails running against Dany's bare shoulder, tracing the skin, Cersei chuckled. "Such a beautiful woman, Jon Snow," she said, loud enough for Jon to hear. Taking a knife from Euron, the flat surface of the blade skimmed her neck. "The great Mother of Dragons, now fallen to nothing." Daenerys wriggled against her binds and gag. Trying to angle her stomach away from the Lannister Queen. Cersei's sneer only widened. "I could kill her easily…"

"NO!" The true King took a step forward. No… please don't… "Let her go, Cersei, please…"

"Your Grace," Varys warned, only to be shushed by a finger to the lips from Tyrion and a glare from Missandei.

Shifting on his feet, Davos broke away from Qyburn, taking several paces towards the gate before several crossbowmen took aim at him. "You have no use to kill her, Lady Lannister." He wasn't about to let Jon's beloved die. "You have your family. You have your life. Accept Jon Snow's generous offer, and you shall have the entire Westerlands to raise your child in peace."

Cersei laughed again. "Only a fool would believe I'd give up the throne I earned." She put the knife back to Dany's throat. "Perhaps I should kill her right now." An amused glint - one of malevolent madness - crossed her eyes. The knife shifting to Daenerys' stomach. "Or perhaps your unborn child, bastard!"

Nearly choking, the swallow of spit down Tyrion's throat turned into a sputter of coughs. The queen is pregnant? Oh, this was not good at all. A quick look to Varys found a flicker of fear on his face - a longer look at Jon finding what he had most feared. The true King looked as if a crossbow bolt slammed into his chest.

"Shall I kill both of them, bastard?" Cersei called out, knife still in hand. "Or shall I have Ser Gregor do the honors?"

The dragonwolf couldn't speak… couldn't react. He had obviously never expected this. One look at Daenerys proved the truth… a far worse eventuality than if Cersei had lied - much as Jon hated himself for thinking such.

A babe. Dany is pregnant. I… I'm a father… It was as if thousands of wights had swarmed him, rotted hands ripping him apart. Seeing his beloved… his child, in the clutches of the monster of House Lannister. Even from here, he could see the pain in Daenerys' eyes. The sadness. The pleading in her gaze to forgive her for allowing this to happen.

My love… my child… It was rather he who deserved to suffer for this.

All of this could be seen by Tyrion. Watching as the honorable 'son' of Ned Stark lost all pretenses. Lost his armor, the second skin worn to shield him from the pain the world would inflict on an honorable man. On a bastard. He remembered what Varys had told him Ned Stark said, while in the black cells, when faced with the choice to live or die.

"You think my life is such a precious thing to me, that I would trade my honor for a few more years... of what?"

Jon Snow… Aegon Targaryen was similar, only different at the same time. Honor was fungible for a true Targaryen, the way it wasn't for Ned Stark. But not passion. Not love. Not the fire of desire. Such drove a dragon forward.

And Jon Snow was the hidden dragon.

Oh sister, you have made a terrible miscalculation...

Staggering himself, Davos looked at Qyburn. "Is it true?"

Qyburn only nodded. "Aye. Her Grace is with child."

Looking back at Jon, Davos could sense what the lad was going through. He was a father himself, and if anyone threatened his children… I'd burn them all… Taking several further steps, he prayed the crossbowmen wouldn't kill him outright. "Your Grace…" No more games. An innocent child was involved. "You don't want this to happen. Think of your unborn child… Please, see reason." Davos' last plea fell on deaf ears. There was no going back for Cersei Lannister.

Her breath tickling her ear, smug madness apparent even without gazing upon her, Dany heard Cersei whisper the sickly sweet words. "If you have something to say to your bastard lover, now is the time."

Gag pushed down, Daenerys' violet eyes fell upon Jon. Dozens of different thoughts coursed through her mind. In that moment, she hated Cersei - the rage burned hotter than even her dragons could create. I didn't want him to know like this. Never like this. Dany wished that she could have told Jon about their child while naked and in bed, bodies flush in a tangle of limbs.

She took it away from me. From us. The babe was nothing more than a pawn for Cersei to torture the both of them and she loathed the lioness for it. Her mouth opened, then closed. Wanting to tell Jon to burn the Red Keep to the ground. To kill all that stood against them. "Jon…"

Across the plain, staring at the Gate of the Gods, Jon took a step forward. Dany…

In all Daenerys' hate, in all her anger… only one thought bubbled to the surface. She didn't care. Only wanted him to know. "I LOVE YOU...!" Only to be cut off by the gag placed back over her mouth.

Time stood still for Jon. He rocked back, as if Olly had stabbed him all over again. I love you. Despite everything. Her fears, his rejection, their shared anger over their duty, how easily he had broken his promise… none mattered. She loves me.

"Love." Cersei snorted in derision. "Only the weak love. Ser Gregor."

Unsheathing his greatsword, the Mountain that Rode raised the massive weapon as if it were a twig. Waiting, as if sensing the Queen's wishes. Davos gasped, Tyrion nearly fainted, Missandei clasped her hands over her mouth, and Varys pursed his lips. Waiting for the northern bastard before them to take it all in. And Rhaegal's roar shook the very city as the blade approached Daenerys' bared neck…

Only to stop, hovering mere inches from the Dragon Queen. Daenerys almost feeling the cold steel singe her neck. "Next time, Ser Gregor won't hold back," Cersei called out over the floodplain. "Consider it a warning." And at a jerk of her hand, the Kingsguard hauled the gagged Daenerys away. The last flicker of her violet eyes before she disappeared into the gatehouse being locked with Jon's.

Heart thumping, pain and devastation written on his face, Jon turned. Running a hand through his hair. Drifting down his face. Clutching his heart. Their baby… the beloved moment he had hoped and prayed for the entire journey to White Harbor, defiled and polluted by Cersei Lannister. All walls and armor around him finally crumbled into dust. Leaving a raw, tortured soul bare to the elements. Wordlessly, he grabbed his head in a silent scream.

Thousands of emotions twitched over his expression, the Warden of the North almost staggering the few steps back towards the Unsullied guards. Passing Varys, stone faced but with a concern in his eyes. Past Missandei, her hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. Provide the comfort of a friend to the man her Queen loved…

But Jon shrugged it off. Terror and brooding sadness suddenly gone. Replaced by something that made Missandei step back. Grey eyes darkened to blackness, now a ring of violet tinged the outside. His lips hardened. Back ramrod straight, shoulders trembling with a simmering heat. He stormed past the Unsullied towards the green dragon beyond. The wolf unleashed from its tether…

No, not a wolf. A dragon.

A Targaryen.

Eyes shifting between the players, Tyrion knew the time since his Queen had said her fateful words had been only a minute or so. A single minute where everything changed. Where a man at the edge of himself, torn between two worlds, finally decided. All bastard armor holding him back swept away. Beside him, Missandei - beneath the fear for Daenerys - looked pleased. And across from him, the Spider's carefully guarded expression still radiated disappointment.

A sigh left Tyrion's lips. "Oh sister," he breathed, only for himself to hear. "I fear you have only woken a sleeping dragon… and filled him with a terrible resolve." In the distance, Rhaegal roared as he took off into the air, Jon atop the dragon's back.

**A/N: Yep. Jon was in the same basic situation as Dany at the end of episode 4, except not as tragic.**

**I thought about it, and determined the BS convo Jon and Dany had where they separated was complete bunk and OOC. So, I restructured it. **

**Yes, Lyanna Mormont is alive. Couldn't kill her off :D**

**Davos is the man! Thanks to Patriot-112 for help with the convo.**

**Till next time ;)**


	5. Ch 5: A Dragon's Song

**A/N: Hi all! ****And I'm baaaack! Thanks for all your patience guys and gals. Bar exam is done, and now on to the updates!**

**So appreciative of all the support this is getting. It's really cathartic to repair the crapshow of season 8. **

**Credit to Patriot-112 for help with the Bran scene. Check out his story The Snow Dragon, it's awesome!**

**I hope everyone likes. Be sure to review, follow, and fav with your thoughts :D**

Chapter 5: A Dragon's Song

The chair shattered into kindling as it slammed into the stone wall. It joined the collected remains of detritus and broken furniture that covered the floor - strewn there from the enraged force that descended upon the chambers. A veritable gale much like the ones that bared down on Dragonstone during the wet winter months. Bellowing, the true King of the Seven Kingdoms sent a vase to join them, the pottery shattering against the wall as his heart had been upon seeing what he saw.

_Daenerys…_

_Our child…_

_"I LOVE YOU!"_

It had been days since the parlay. Jon having not been in Dragonstone for days, the poor lad off Gods' knows where atop Rhaegal. Just flying. Flying and flying around endless forests, vast oceans, and nameless hamlets filled with people cowering and staring in awe at the great dragon. Numb. Completely numb until the anger and rage just exploded upon seeing the three-headed dragon banner upon the wall.

"FUCKING CERSEI!" Another vase thrown at the wall. "FUCKING LANNISTERS!" Jon had never once felt such a rage, one that welled deep within him as a furious fire. Blood of the dragon… He felt such, surging through his heart and his blood after seeing Dany nearly killed. Their child nearly killed. A power long dormant inside him finally letting itself erupt free to the world. "I WILL KILL THEM ALL!" he thundered, a table joining the rest to crack against the stone.

He would. He would bring fire and blood to King's Landing for what they were doing to his beloved.

"I'm glad to see you accepting your destiny, brother."

Turning, eyes wide, Jon found the standing form of his younger sibling smiling at him. "Bran! You're here. You're… up!"

Bran Stark allowed himself a warm smile, walking to Jon and hugging the shocked King. "It's good to see you as well." He pulled back. "I'm not here… not really. Channelling myself through the weirwood here on Dragonstone, though I'm not completely sure how it works."

Jon blinked, not believing what he was seeing. Instead of the emotionless husk of before, Bran was… himself again. The same happy boy, if hardened by life. "But… why are you yourself again?"

"I often get lost in the past, Jon. Causes my human form to run at… slow speed I guess. Don't worry, I was right there in totality during the battle, and now that the Long Night is won I shouldn't do it as much." Masses of wights, minds captured and turned against their comrades as the Dothraki wheeled back and the infantry retreated into the castle - they would have lost far more without him. Jon was heartened that his brother was back. "But, I need to tell you something. Something important."

Swallowing, Jon just nodded.

"You have finally done it, Jon. You are now a Targaryen, just as you should be. Shed of the ridiculous bastard armor my mother and society forced upon you."

"But… I don't know how the hell to be a Targaryen," Jon admitted. "It scares me, being Rhaegar's son when all I wanted to be was the trueborn son of Eddard Stark. And Dany…" Dany… "I can't take away her birthright."

"The only way to do so is if you don't accept your heritage." Bran stepped forward, clasping Jon's shoulders. "Embrace the fire. Embrace the ice. You are a Targaryen, and a Stark. Become Aegon Targaryen, the Dragonwolf of Winterfell, and not only will you be victorious but so will Daenerys." The young man smiled. "I may not have shown it, but I knew you'd choose her from the moment I became the Three-Eyed Raven. And that choice is something you should never regret." With that, Bran was gone, blinked out of existence before his very eyes.

Jon was just about to finish recovering his bearings when there was a knock at the door. "Your Grace." _Missandei._

Among both her and Davos - Varys did as well, though Jon wasn't trusting of his motives for doing so - they had begun to use Aegon Targaryen's title rather than Jon Snow's. The true King of Westeros rather than the ex-King in the North that bent the knee. While it would have bothered him before, now it… didn't.

_Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Kill the boy and let the man be born._

_Ya' need to live for her._

"Come in, Missandei." The door opened to reveal Dany's trusted handmaiden - and rapidly becoming as trusted an advisor for him as Davos was. She hadn't walked in two steps before her eyes widened at the state of the room. Jon winced. "I know, I know… what is it?"

Wanting to say something about the elephant in the room, the translator bit it back. _Perhaps it is better that Jon's dragon comes out._ While she admired the brooding and honorable Jon Snow, Missandei found herself liking the still brooding and honorable, but visibly passionate Aegon Targaryen. "Forgive me for disturbing you, your Grace, but it's Drogon." She watched Jon purse his lips. "He refuses to eat even the meager rations we've been giving him."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jon grabbed his cloak. Wordlessly assuming the responsibility on his shoulders.

_Long may he reign_, Missandei thought with a smile.

* * *

Just over the crest of the muddy hill, the grey spires of Harrenhal loomed tall in the distance as would a mountain. Spires taller than the Wall, gatehouse larger than Winterfell's great keep, it was said that tens of thousands had died during its forty-year construction, draining the Riverlands so dry of prosperity that it had led the vast majority of its lords to choose the dragonfire of Aegon the Conqueror over the native King Harren Hoare - or Harren the Black as he was infamously remembered as.

_Ironic._ Sansa Stark watched the melted spires with a tiny smirk, damage from Balerion's dragonfire still unrepaired. Initially displayed as a symbol to Targaryen strength, then left as such from inertia and neglect. _History repeats itself before our very eyes._

"Gods." Behind her, Podrick Payne gaped at the ruined castle. "Looks just like a tomb."

"Aye," replied Sansa. "It was for Harren the Black. His greatest project becoming his tomb from the fires of Balerion the Dread. Hopefully Cersei will be the same, only with the Red Keep instead of Harrenhal." Sansa certainly wouldn't shed a tear for her.

Podrick shrugged. "The people of King's Landing are good people, but the Red Keep, clean it out with fire. Would be another great thing Daenerys Targaryen would do for Westeros since she got here."

Sansa's eyes narrowed. "Jon could also do it. Hope he does, after what the Lannisters did to our family. _He deserves it, with all he's lost._" He deserves much more than just that. All of us do. "He rode a dragon as well, same as the Dragon Queen."

"I thought that was a one time thing? Dragon Queen let him cause they needed another rider to fight the dead?"

_Oh, if only you knew…_

"It couldn't have been a one time thing, idiot." Grimacing atop her horse, Lyanna Mormont endured her pain stoically. Nearly getting crushed by an undead giant on top of losing the last member of her family in the War for the Dawn took a toll, but the she-bear didn't earn her tough reputation for nothing. If it wasn't for begging from Jon and Lord Larence Hornwood, the Giantslayer would have have ridden with the troops and not the slower schedule with Sansa. "Not when he rode that dragon in front of the whole army in the Riverlands."

Turning, Sansa stared at the girl with wide eyes. "What? When did this happen?" Why didn't anyone tell her by raven?

"One of the Mormont men with the army kept me abreast. The green dragon appeared out of nowhere, wounded, and Jon mounted him. Rode off, probably to Dragonstone." Looking back ahead, Sansa couldn't help but smile. Jon was really embracing himself, and it heartened her.

The last time she saw the ruined spires - also the only time she had, travelling down the Kingsroad on the ill-fated journey from Winterfell to King's Landing with her father - the forests around the ruined keep had been green and vibrant, filled with life. Now, the bare trees and spots of snow and dead grass only exacerbated the foreboding look. "The War of the Five Kings destroyed this land. Arya told me of the conditions when she and Gendry were captured here." Their horses proceeded slowly towards Harrenhal, the retinue of the collected Lords of the North. Ready to plead their case to Queen Daenerys once she took the Red Keep as expected.

_Or another monarch._

Brienne of Tarth, wearing the same scowl on her face since the army had left Winterfell - since Jaime left Winterfell - shivered. "There's a curse on that place, mark my words."

"The ghosts of the eleven families that once held that keep rest in its walls." Sansa had heard all the stories, almost all from Petyr Baelish. Another dry chuckle left her lips. "They say you can hear the spirits from the ruined towers on quiet nights. I don't much want to hear Littlefinger's whines."

"I doubt anyone wants to remember that snake, my Lady."

Sansa glanced at Podrick, grinning in spite of herself. "You speak with a wisdom beyond your years, Podrick." The young lad blushed, even after the Long Night still green around the gills in many respects.

As they drew closer and closer to Harrenhal, horses appeared along the Kingsroad. Many horses. An entire troop of cavalry, trout banners of House Tully fluttering in the wind. At the van was a familiar form, one Sansa had only seen once but in the scheme of things, made sure she remembered. "Lady Sansa."

"Lord Tully," she replied, allowing Brienne and Podrick to ride their horses to flank her. Just a precaution. "What brings you here, Uncle? I thought the Tully forces are with the main army."

"They are, my niece." Edmure reached into his tunic, pulling out a raven scroll. "I was gathering further soldiers at Harrenhal when I heard of your party approaching. Felt it better to deliver this to you myself." He handed the scroll to Sansa. "The Queen has been captured."

This got her attention. "Captured, by Cersei?!" No matter her feelings for the woman… such was a fate Sansa wouldn't have wished on anyone.

Brienne paled. "I'm shocked this hasn't spread." Cersei would have likely spread the news far and wide… unless her position was more precarious than realized. "Learning that the Dragon Queen is held in the Red Keep could spark riots in the capitol. The people would support her over Cersei."

"The smallfolk would support anyone against Cersei," Sansa grumbled, reading the scroll. "Who's in charge of the forces."

"Lord Snow."

Of that, Sansa began to smile. _Oh, cousin. You deserve this._ Perhaps now the world would see him as the King he deserved to be.

* * *

While many would call him insane, Jon missed the cold. The icy blast of his home in the North. Of his stomping grounds in the True North, where he had felt the most alive… outside of Dany's embrace, that is. The south brought nothing but an oppressive heat. Of fetid air and an unforgiving sun. _This would have been my home… had my father lived._ In any case, Jon didn't dwell on it.

Of all the south, he liked Dragonstone the best. Westerly trade winds hitting it full force, the cold ocean air reminded him of home. A welcome chill to his wolfsblood - a soothing temper to his dragonblood. But nothing could soothe the pain and concern he felt as he stared at the large black mass stretched over the grassy plain before the cliffs. "How long has he been there?"

Missandei, concern written all over her face, turned to the man that had won her Queen's heart. "The Maester says three days, your Grace. He won't eat anything. Barely moves. The wounds seem to be healing, but he just won't fly." In the distance, Drogon lazily yawned, shifting his neck slightly as he simply simmered in place. Above them all, Rhaegal soared, head peeking down to check on his father and brother every now and again.

"Misses his momma." Beside him, Jon could count on Davos for anything matter of fact - he owed the Onion Knight a debt not easily repaid. "Dragons bond to their riders, it seems. I take it her Grace was always Drogon's rider?"

"Aye, since he helped her escape the fighting pits of Meereen." Jon winced at Missandei bringing up such an incident. Dany told him of what had happened, and it petrified him that he had come so close to not knowing Daenerys Targaryen. To never having fallen in love with her.

_I am empty without her._

The inner fire within roared, as if saying he was being foolish. Now wasn't the time to brood, but to fix what was wrong - and that first meant Drogon. "I'll speak with him."

Blinking, Davos shared a worried glint with Missandei. "Are you sure that's wise? He could…"

"Drogon could have killed me a long time ago, but he didn't. And now I am connected to his brother, to his mother…" Jon gulped. "I just know I can speak to him." Without a word, he strode forth to the resting dragon.

"Boy's got guts," Davos remarked.

"Hope it doesn't get him killed," replied Missandei.

Boots squelching through the grass wet from sea spray, heart thumping in his chest, Jon nevertheless stoked the inner fire within as he approached the Black Dread Reborn - as many called Drogon. Drawing ever closer to his head, Jon knew what they said about Dany's children. _Beasts, monsters, a scourge of death…_ But Dany never saw it that way. They were her children. Her loves.

_Gorgeous._

Nothing but deep, sensitive souls of pure passion. Ones as intelligent as any man. Jon realized this now - as a Targaryen, he shared a bond with this animal as his Stark blood shared with Ghost. "Drogon… it's me. Aegon."

Nothing could have awoken Drogon from his solitude. Well… except for Jon. Neck snaking up, he watched the young Targaryen with annoyance.

Jon sighed. He didn't think - even with the moment they shared at these very cliffs when Dany first arrived from the Goldroad, which was the first time he developed feelings for her - that Drogon would react well to his presence. "I know, boy. I know you miss your mother." Drogon merely snorted, growling. "The Lannisters have her, and I saw her. They… they're going to kill her if I don't stop them."

The growls only increased, Drogon's jaw starting to smoke. It was clear that the dragon both understood him and blamed him for Dany's capture. _Hells, I blame myself enough for the two of us._ But Jon would not back down. He was as much a dragon as any of Dany's children.

"She's pregnant… with your brother or sister, Drogon." The news only seemed to make Drogon even more enraged. "I know we don't see eye to eye. I know I am partially to blame for this, but I'm asking for your help, Drogon. As your brother's rider, as your mother's love…"

Suddenly something snapped in Drogon. At hearing that, reminded that this man was her mother's lover… was basically his father, just drove him to the brink. Pure rage, his own shame and blame at Jon brought him to his full resting height. Jaw open in an ear shattering roar. Jon involuntarily fell to the ground, hand raised instinctively for protection as Drogon's teeth grew closer...

Only to be interrupted by an even louder roar. Slamming into the cliffs, ground shaking beneath their feet, Rhaegal lashed out at his brother. Jaws snapping, puffs of smoke emanating from his throat, he hissed and growled. Screeching at Drogon, as if saying _'Get the fuck back!'_ from Jon. Spines up and teeth bared.

"Oh fuck…" breathed Davos, himself guiding Missandei back over twenty feet. Away from what was coming. _Gods, please let Jon be unburnt..._

Seeing crimson at his brother's righteous anger, blinded by his own rage and sense of loss, Drogon opened his maw to reveal a bright orange-red glow. A well of dragonfire, heated to the strength of the doom of Valyria. Ready to lash out at Rhaegal. At Jon. At the whole world that took his mother away from him…

Only for a loud smack to echo off his scales. Jaws closing, dragonfire dissipating, Drogon's amber eyes stared in shock as Jon glared at him. Hand balled into a fist. "Don't you dare, Drogon." Another slam of the fist into his snout. Not painful, but its meaning clear. "Breathing fire on your own brother? Your mother would be ashamed at you!"

Drawing back, even Drogon seemed to realize he was going too far - but Jon knew that the black dragon was too proud to admit it. He was certain Davos and Missandei thought him mad. Hells, he thought the same as well. _I could probably be the only one to hit Drogon and get away with it._ Behind him, Rhaegal's head hovered, ready to defend his father and rider… but Jon didn't want that. Feeling the heat seething within Drogon, he had to find a way to calm Dany's child. His child.

Closing his eyes, the only sounds registering to him were Drogon's angered growls and the low hum of Rhaegal's answering resolve in the face. Jon remembered Missandei's words at that moment. Imagining a young, serene Daenerys singing softly to her dragons - her soft, melodic High Valyrian wafting through the stone halls and wind-swept cliffs of Slaver's Bay. Sighing, he knew what he had to do… something he hadn't done in years, and rarely since he was a mere child.

Throat clearing, Jon let the words of the old song tumble from his lips. Out into the light of day.

"You northern lads and lasses too, draw near, both young and old,

"A dolefull lamentation now to you I will unfold.

_"With me, ve-lu zavilat aso, velu zavilat iqet dhai aso, houma ma-shiara."_

Rhaegal's simmering stopped, amber eyes flickering to his rider. Drogon's growls lessened - the great beast's anger and irritation an intense heat only just subjected to the cooling of Jon's calming, serene lilt. The sounds that once echoed through the cliffs and fields of the ancient keep of Dragonstone began to wane, exposing the long dormant singing of Rhaegar Targaryen's long lost son for the world to hear.

"One hundred gallant northern boys, we are left for to deplore,

"Whose bodies fell victim up-on fair... Trident's shore.

_"With me, ve-lu zavilat aso, velu zavilat iqet dhai aso, houma ma-shiara."_

Blinking, Missandei and Davos stared, only breaking their rapture to glance at each other with wide eyes. Raspy, hoarse, the ballad warbled from Jon's lips with a quality so mournfully breathtaking that all seemed to still. From the neigh of the horses to Ghost's whimpers and barks. Even the dragons quieted down as Jon sang.

"They were engaged by five to one when charged on with Andal steel,

"But Winter's sons did loudly cry 'we'll die before we kneel!'

"With me, _ve-lu zavilat aso, velu zavilat iqet dhai aso, houma ma-shiara._"

It was an ancient tune. One dating back thousands of years, to the invasion of the Andals. Every northerner knew it, the sad serenade of Theon Stark "the Hungry Wolf's" northern warriors fighting firm to defend Moat Cailin and the Neck from the hordes that had overwhelmed the Vale and the Riverlands. Of how every time a new death or loss fell upon the north, the young warrior would tell his love that soon the war would end - that she should sleep while he fought for her. A song of sadness, but also of hope.

"The wounded called for mercy but none they did receive,

"They numbered them among the dead and threw them in the grave.

_"_With me,_ ve-lu zavilat aso, velu zavilat iqet dhai aso, houma ma-shiara."_

By now all sounds had ceased. Missandei, Davos, Ghost, the Unsullied and Dothraki within earshot, Rhaegal, Drogon… even the birds had stopped their calls to listen to Jon Snow - to Aegon Targaryen sing. Just as they had for his father upon these same shores.

"They had no one to heal their wounds may angels them surround,

"Before the throne of heaven may they wear a brilliant crown.

"With me, _ve-lu zavilat aso, velu zavilat iqet dhai aso, houma ma-shiara."_

Throat hoarse by the end, the warbling melody petered out - leaving nothing but utter silence. Only broken by the light breeze whipping against the vibrantly green grass growing in the volcanic soil. Time seemed to stand still. Jon stared at Drogon, the black dragon staring back in sheer wonder. As he had upon his mother so long before, an innocent hatchling looking upon the woman that gave him life in the flames.

Now he looked upon his long lost father. The man with the blood of the dragon in his veins. The man that had embraced who he truly was, Aegon Targaryen, King of Westeros and the only man that deserved Daenerys Targaryen by his side. In rule and in life.

But just as the beautiful music tumbling from Jon's voice brought Drogon into the trance, the silence brought him out of it. Blinking, the dark gold eyes flickered away. Jon felt a hot snort wash over him, the dragon turning and ambling away towards the beach. Unwilling to fly, but also not killing him.

Perhaps a grudging acceptance was the best he could do right now.

Defeat and fatigue swirling within him, Jon suddenly felt something large nudge his side. "Yes, boy. I know." He turned to rub Rhaegal's snout, letting the welcome heat of the scales and the loving growl from deep in the dragon's throat soothe his inability to reach Dany's mount. "Your brother is a stubborn one… just like your mother," Jon couldn't help but chuckle. Rhaegal nuzzled his massive snout into Jon's body with a gentleness so out of place for such a beast.

_"They are not beasts. They are my children."_

_My children._

"Rest up, my child," Jon told Rhaegal, patting the scales with the same respect and love that his fa… uncle had shown him. The dragon purred once more before ambling to the edge of the cliff - diving off only for the air currents to carry him into the air. Pursing his lips in a small smile, Jon began his treck back to the castle.

Meeting Missandei's wide eyes and Davos' gaping expression, Aegon Targaryen felt not a little sheepish and embarrassed. Trying to hide his slight blush. "I think Drogon has opened up a bit, but he's still too wounded and depressed to participate." In all honesty, only one week before, that had been him.

Neither of them were going to let it go so easily. "How… that was magnificent, your Grace." Missandei had traveled the world with both Kraznys mo Nakloz and Daenerys, witnessing the finest of ballads and the most melodic of singers. Never had one possessed a voice so hauntingly hoarse and beautiful as to make the very wind stop blowing. "Truly magnificent."

Jon shrugged. "Was rusty, and am no professional bard." Even accepting his dragonblood, he didn't take praise well. Missandei once had heard the late Ser Barristan say his father, Prince Rhaegar, was much the same way. Brooding and modest.

"Well fuck me, your Grace… you put those fools to shame." Davos had never heard anything like it. And Winterfell prior to the Battle for the Dawn had been filled with mournful tunes in many languages. "Why don't you sing more often?"

"I was a bastard." Whereas before the feelings were just shrugged off, now they hissed against a simmering anger - spoken through clenched teeth. "Bastards don't sing according to our childhood septa, and she had Lady Stark's ear." So much he had lost… all over the lie._ The lie that destroyed my humanity. Made me a demon to my own family…_

_The lie that saved you._ His half-brother and sister, stabbed and crushed against the wall while their mother was raped.

"Jon?" He was pulled out of his enraged brooding by his Hand, concern marring both his expression and Missandei's.

"I'm fine." He waved them off. "Send a raven to Lord Royce. I want to know the moment Lord Hightower and Lord Dayne meet up with the main force." Cloak billowing in the sea breeze, he pushed past back to the castle.

"He is more like her than he thinks, Ser Davos," Missandei stated, watching him leave. "A fire, but also kindness and pain. Lives filled with pain."

Davos sighed. "They both have the weight of the world on their shoulders. A just woman and an honorable man…" Two traits that the world did not appreciate. "Knowing just how fucked up the rest of us are, they're the only ones I'd trust with the realm. The only one's who'd pull off the miracle."

_And they better be ready with fire and blood, for the knives will come for them. The last gasp of a cornered rat._ Many cornered rats, all ready to fight to the death to preserve their stake in the game of thrones.

But since when did a Targaryen care about any reaction? Be it a man or even a god?

**A/N: Jon has certainly come a long way. Even connecting with Drogon.**

**With the Long Night over, I think Bran being the TER is a chapter to be closed. No Bran the Broken shit here.**

**With Sansa... I don't like how she was shown to be Littlefinger 2.0. It was just... confusing and unrealistic. Why does she have to go that path? Why not she realize that Jon is her family and that her family is more important than being a Queen? As such, I am going a different direction with why she told Tyrion. It's gonna be much better, believe me.**

**I decided to give Jon something specific to connect him to Rhaegar. Just as Rhaegar enjoyed a simple pleasure of music, why not Jon? Plus his upbringing could show how he never obliged in it. The song is a version of the old folk song "A Dreadful Engagement." The chorus is the Old Tongue, and roughly translated it's: "With me, it ends soon, the fight will end soon, sleep my love."**

**Till next time, where a certain former Kingsguard will visit Dany in prison ;)**


	6. Ch 6: A Dragon's Truth

**A/N: Hey all. After focusing on Jon, now we go to Dany and Jaime in King's Landing.**

**Oh, I just came across a really interesting new story. It's called Gift of the Gods by Nielsen1984, an AU story just published that looks to be an intriguing take on Jon and Daenerys. Really recommend it!**

**I hope everyone likes. Be sure to review, follow, and fav with your thoughts :D**

Chapter 6: A Dragon's Truth

He had been here before. Not just the physical location of the small council chamber - such repetitiveness was obvious - but also the more… subjective factors. A city on the brink, hostile armies at the gates, loyal forces whose loyalty was questionable at best… and an unstable ruler ready to react in an unparalleled brutality just to hold onto power. And perhaps not even tethered to the barest of rationality such as that. Yes, Ser Jaime Lannister had been here before. Oh, he had a claim to determine that better than anyone alive.

"You told me the dragons were wounded!" Cersei hissed to Euron, eyes blazing daggers at the Ironborn 'King.' Before Euron could even reply, she shifted to Qyburn. "And you fucking confirmed it!" Her shrill voice echoed through the chamber.

It was Qyburn that spoke first. "Your Grace… please. My little birds only informed me that one was wounded, and given that only one dragon appeared at the parlay… the information should be deemed confirmed." He sighed. "Multiple Ironborn reavers documented that both dragons were hit in the ambush, so it seems that the green dragon recovered."

Wanting to leap out of her chair - journey to the black cells to watch as Ser Gregor tortured some of the Targaryen spies imprisoned there - the immense baby bump kept her planted in the seat. _Seven fucking hells._ Cersei would have to be content with the twenty food hoarders and scroungers that were hung on her orders outside the Red Keep after the parlay. "Even if the green dragon survived, the Dragon Whore resides in the black cells! Why in the name of the Stranger does the Stark Bastard of all people have the ability to ride one?!"

Jaime's brow rose, all inner strength in him trying to fight any other expression of shock coming forth on his face. J_on Snow… riding the green dragon?_ If the dragon was at Dragonstone for the ambush and Jon Snow miraculously appeared now on its back… the beast must have flown to him. His stump ached beneath the new golden arm, perfectly fitted but still uncomfortable. _He must know. There is no doubt._

"...mount of Targaryen blood in his veins." Jaime only captured the tail end of Qyburn's words. "It was always rumored that Ned Stark's lover was Ashara Dayne. The Daynes had a past Targaryen ancestor. That must be where his dragonriding ability comes from, your grace."

Her balled fists slammed on the table. "'Best aim in the Seven Kingdoms,' you said." Nothing but vile hate spat out at Euron. "I gave you a simple order. Kill the fucking dragons! You couldn't even do that for me!"

Euron looked at her incredulously. "I brought you the Dragon Queen. She rots in your cell because of me!"

"And yet Jon Snow rides a dragon, which he wouldn't do had you killed both of them as I ordered." Her anger began to boil. A simmering hate that reminded Jaime of another monarch he served. "And let me point out that I am the Queen. You will give me the proper respect… or else." Ser Gregor placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. A message stronger than any words of what Euron was barreling into.

A single flash of darkness. Of cold, calculating rage, replaced by a bombastic penitence. "Forgive me, my Queen. I shall remember my manners from now on."

Cersei calmed. "Good. Now, one dragon is out of the picture, while the other is out there. We need to hunt it down and kill it."

"Allow me to redeem myself, your Grace." Euron leaned forward, a charming smile on his face. "Let me sail to Dragonstone and kill the creature. I have more ships equipped with scorpions. A further hail of fire will take the beast down."

The Queen pondered the request. Pursing her lips, she nodded. "Do it."

_"By gods, you are the stupidest Lannister!"_ Their father's words rang true in Jaime's mind. Trusting Euron Greyjoy? A man so clearly self-interested? _What a fool I've been._

_"The things I do for love."_ His words in front of Bran Stark encapsulated it perfectly.

Glancing at Cersei with quiet and guarded eyes, the woman he had shared moments of love and passion with no longer existed. She has gone mad. Just like Aerys. The same cold snarl of the lips, wild, bloodshot eyes of hate. All that was missing was the frail build of someone too paranoid to eat, but the babe in her womb explained that. The babe - his babe - grounded Cersei in a way no one else could. Not even him, and Jaime shuddered to think what the child's birth would mean for Cersei's psyche.

_It would snap the last tether to reality._ Rhaegar's defeat at the Trident had for the Mad King, after all.

Clenching her teeth, Cersei suddenly turned to Jaime. "Dear brother. What would you do? Tell me what I should do!"

Staring at the crude map drawn out on the table, Jaime felt a bead of sweat course down his forehead. The sooner Cersei's reign was ended the better, but if she had options then there would be less danger to the innocents of King's Landing. Seven help me. "Get all your troops within the cover of the city walls. The scorpions might not do much, but they're better than nothing against the bastard's dragon."

Even in the midst of a descent into madness - near the end of said descent, rather - Cersei did exhibit some of their father's sense. "Qyburn, send a message to Strickland. I want the entire army evacuated from Hayford and within the city walls by the next morrow. With fucking dragons around…" Another glare at Euron. "I am not losing one of my last pieces of leverage." Rage soon clouded her vision. "All forces, bring them back! That bastard won't touch my armies if I have anything to say about it!"

Jaime could have sworn he saw a flicker of triumph on Qyburn's face. "It will be done with all due haste, your Grace."

* * *

"Wait…" Marden Tanner blinked, incredulous as to the story being told to him. "So the fucker actually said that to the Dragon Queen?"

Taking a sip of the bitter ale from his waterskin - the liquid actually starting to grow on him - Grey Worm nodded. "Yes. He say these things." The motley crew lazily drinking and swapping stories around the campfire was an odd one, no doubt about it. Several northerners, Grey Worm and two of his captains, a smattering of Vale knights, one minor Lord from the Riverlands, and Tormund with his two Dothraki lasses. From what Grey Worm knew of Dothraki, they were likely married in the eyes of the Great Stallion. Likely same for the Free Folk. "Second Son said the Queen show him her... cunt." His common tongue still wasn't the best.

Jeers rang out from the seated Westerosi. "Dragon Queen should've just had him beheaded," remarked a man from the Vale.

"I hope she set her dragons upon them, like Lady Sansa did to that Bolton fuck," another Northerner hissed.

Grey Worm shook his head, enjoying himself. "I offered to make the man pay for insolence, but Queen Daenerys refused." His tiny smirk widened at the surprise on his companion's faces.

"Pfft," Tormund growled, downing the ale in his drinking horn. "She's just like King Crow, fucking honor to a fault. Thank the gods they have cunts like us to do their dirty work." He reached down to pinch the asses of both of his companions, who answered back by twin punches to the side. All wore smiles, though.

"Still hoped the fuckers paid," said Tanner.

"Queen Daenerys told Barristan to kill lead sellsword first, when battle commence."

Tanner nodded. "Good." He reached over and slapped Grey Worm on the back, the two having struck up an unlikely friendship in spite of the rather… frosty first meeting. Exemplifying the warming of relations between the two armies since setting up camp along the Dusken. "So was there a battle?"

Everyone's attention was gained by an educated, calming voice from behind the Unsullied commander. "No, there was no battle outside the walls of Yunkai." Grey Worm knew that voice anywhere - he allowed himself the rare brilliant smile as he stood, immediately finding Missandei's arms thrown around him in a tight embrace. _"Iksan biare naejot ūndegon ao, Turgon Nudha,"_ she whispered in his ear, kissing his cheek.

_"Hae iksin nyke,"_ he whispered back, also kissing her. His on the lips. It had been barely a moonturn since leaving Dragonstone at Jon Snow's orders, but the passionate couple felt it acutely. The kiss soon grew.

Such a decision soon came back to bite Grey Worm. Largely in the form of whistles and whoops from the bannermen. Pulling back with a slight blush, Missandei nevertheless kept one hand laced in her lover's, the two of them taking a seat close together. "So this is the lovely lass you've been tellin us so much about!" Tanner grinned, one shared by all others.

"I told ya she was a beauty," Tormund added, laughing. "Seems only my lovelies ever believe me." He kissed the cheek of one of the Dothraki girls, who laughed.

"Don't worry, miss. This cunt only said nice things bout ya'."

Missandei raised an eyebrow. _"Verdagon raqirossa, ñuha jorrāelagon?"_ she asked him in Valyrian.

Grey Worm shrugged. _"Kessa. Nyke'll ivestragon ao tolī tolī."_

"None of that foreign shit over here!" Both freedmen looked up with angered expressions, only to soften at the teasing grin on the riverman's face. "So cummon, how did Yunkai fall? Those cunt slavers better have fuckin' died." A chorus of agreement followed.

Joke having hit a little too close to home, the hate for the masters nevertheless allowed Missandei to feel quite welcome among the group. _No wonder Grey Worm seems so relaxed._ "Turns out, a lieutenant in the Second Sons approached myself and the Queen in her tent. Held a knife to my throat to gain an audience with the Queen." Grey Worm's hand tightened around hers - she hadn't told him that. Nor would she tell these men that the Queen was naked at the time. _Only for King Jon's eyes now._ The thought made her smile. "Once he did, he presented the heads of his superiors."

Whistles pierced the air. "Finally! I so wanted those fuckers to die," laughed a Valeman.

"They were…" Missandei couldn't help but laughing with them. "I didn't shed a tear for them. Turns out, the sellsword let Ser Jorah Mormont and Grey Worm here," she placed a hand on his chest, lovingly. "They infiltrated the city and opened the gates, allowing our men to storm in. Only a week later, the masters freed all the slaves within Yunkai. Hundreds of thousands."

The Westerosi pondered this. "So that's where 'Breaker of Chains' came from?" asked Eddard Cassel, warming his hands in the fire.

Missandei nodded. "Astapor and Meereen too, but it was Yunkai that began the legend." Almost automatically, her hand drifted to her neck - where her collar had once been. "The masters offered Queen Daenerys a fleet of ships and a fair amount of gold, which she could have used to pay the Golden Company to fight for her and take back her throne - but she refused. Thought it was blood money, enriching herself on the backs of millions of slaves. She told me that she would rather risk the Iron Throne than leave one man, woman, or child in bondage."

Silence descended over the campfire. Knights and warriors looking at each other, gears turning within their heads. Both Missandei and Grey Worm found themselves nervous - relations between them and the Westerosi had improved greatly since the coldness of their arrival at Winterfell, but Daenerys herself was still a sore subject. Neither knew how they would ultimately react…

Marden Tanner broke the silence, refilling his mug of ale. "Well, looks like our King chose the right woman to love." He lifted the mug into the air. "To the Dragon Queen! May her men bring us the head of Cersei Lannister this time." Grey Worm and Missandei smiling wide, they joined their comrades in the toast.

* * *

_A blinding light overpowering her, Daenerys raised her hand, shielding her violet eyes. Soon the light dimmed, replaced by only the manageable illumination of the noonday sun. Ultimate fire tempered by the cooling sea breeze. Finding herself outside, Dany looked around her in confusion. A confusion that quickly left her - there was no sight on earth more iconic than this, except perhaps Winterfell, childhood home of her beloved._

_"Dragonstone," she breathed. The place retained its visage, dark and imposing upon the crags and rocks of the stalwart island heading Blackwater Bay. But… Daenerys noticed a difference. The sun burned brighter. The grass more vibrant. Even the castle seemed teeming, not the deserted wonder she had occupied upon her landing in Westeros but rather something lush. Something lived in, filled with love and joy. Overhead, she could see her dragons soaring, bringing a smile to their lips. They seemed happy, a feeling that she herself could sense within her._

_Such gazing was interrupted by the sounds of laughter. Coaxing her from the stairway into the grassy meadow. Three figures were visible in the distance, running around together. Daenerys could sense the joy that radiated from them - that radiated from the entire island, not seen since her own mother had brought the young Prince Rhaegar here. Pace quickening, she watched as a man in a simple black breeches and cuirass lifted two little children into his arms, falling into the grass._

_There was no denying who the man was. "Jon…" He looked nearly the same, aside from a few scars here and there and the Targaryen dragon upon his leathers. But the brooding air was gone, evaporated, leaving before her a carefree man enjoying the life he had been given. Daenerys felt her heart soaring at his brilliant smile… only to have her entire concept of what happiness was proven to be woefully adept upon what Jon stated upon noticing her. Smile impossibly widening._

_"Look, sweetlings. It's _muña_." Her breath hitched, both at his Valyrian and at the word he used. The word for 'mother.'_

_Out of the grass poked two heads, silver hair hopelessly tangled from their playful morning. One pair of grey eyes, and one pair of violet sparkled with joy at spotting Daenerys. "_Muña!_" One boy and one girl, no older than five, scrambled through the fields toward her. Arms out and desperate to reach her. In her heart, Dany knew who these were. Knew of the deep love she felt for both these beautiful children. Falling to her knees, Dany's arms opened wide just as the two children leapt into her embrace…_

Eyes fluttering open, Daenerys was greeted not with the gentle caress of whom undoubtedly were her children, but the moldy brick and stone of the black cells. Entombing her in their coffin of death and decay. Leaning up, she bit back a scream. Cursing her mind and whatever gods there were for torturing her so. With the happiness she had never truly known. Such moments - growing up in the house with the red door, feeding her dragons in Qarth, making love with Jon in their cabin aboard the ship to White Harbor - all were in ignorance. Deprived of the true reality to be mere illusions. Now that she knew the truth, the entire truth, all that faced her was pain and desolation.

_My fault._

Gently, Dany caressed her swelling abdomen. Feeling for her child - for her children. _My dreams come true._ She could feel it, feel the fire of twin dragons… twin dragonwolves growing inside her. It was instinct, nothing more. But Daenerys needed nothing less. "My sweetlings," she murmured, drawing what little comfort she could from them. "I wish your poppa was here." A tear fell from her, so different from the confident Dragon Queen. Alone with her babies, she indulged. "I miss him so much… He was the only person I ever truly loved before you. The only one I would want by my side." Dany hung her head in shame. "I pushed him away, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry my little dragons." And there she sat for what seemed like days, silent but for the sobs that wracked her body.

Sometime later, unknown to her for not even sunlight was allowed to enter the cells, the thick wooden door opened. Booted feet entering with the clink of mail and armor. Dany was numb to it all. _Too light to be the Mountain._ Perhaps Cersei had come with some of her other Queensguards. She steeled herself, hands tightening protectively over her stomach. Waiting for the 'Queen's' venom and insults. But… none of that happened. There wasn't even a voice, only a shadow obscuring the low light of the hallway. Against her newfound instincts as a prisoner, she glanced over her shoulder.

Only to wrench her gaze away. "What are you doing here?" she spat. Face to face with her betrayer. Her father's killer.

The one person that embodied all her family had lost.

Jaime had no idea why he was down here. What could be said by him to comfort Daenerys Targaryen? What could be done? He had come here to end Cersei's life, but her presence here and the presence of his unborn child threatened his mission. All his brains told him to stay as far away from Daenerys as possible, for both their hides...

But… she was so much like her mother. Rhaella Targaryen, the beautiful Queen and almost like a second mother to him. Jaime never forgot standing outside the royal chambers as a young knight, having to listen as the Mad King repeatedly raped the kind and gentle Rhaella. She didn't deserve being there, just as her kind and gentle daughter - no cruel person could cradle their child with the purest of love as Daenerys did - didn't deserve being here. He couldn't comfort Rhaella, but perhaps he could provide some comfort to Daenerys.

Only silence followed, though. No matter what he thought, Jaime just couldn't find the words.

She preempted him. "You're back to where you want to be, aren't you? Fulfilled your 'oath' to save the North, and now you're back in your sister's arms." Dany was bitter, lashing out with an unqueenly rage. But she didn't care - what did she truly have to lose? What, did your sister open her legs to you the moment you arrived, grateful to have her golden lion returned out of love for her?"

Saying nothing, Jaime just stared at her huddled form. She had no idea, but… how could she? He hadn't even told Brienne, the woman that he...

"But I don't expect any different from you, Kingslayer." Dany didn't look at him, but was snarling all the same. "You claim to have killed my father - destroyed my family - as an act of good, but go right back to condemning those same innocent people to a soulless tyrant. Doing whatever it takes to maintain the wheel, crushing those innocent people just for existing. Just so that Cersei can keep her claws on the damned iron chair for one more day." The throne mattered nothing to her. Dany had what truly mattered… and she pushed it all away. A fact only stroking her anger. "You pledged an oath to my House, but it meant nothing to you! My brother, my niece and nephew… even my mother…" Unable to continue, Dany just cupped her face in her hands, fighting back the tears.

"I didn't betray your brother." Such words, they stung harder than he had expected. A desperate, broken woman, touching the most painful of wounds to his very soul. "My oath to Rhaegar remains unbroken." He shut the door behind him, giving the two a semblance of privacy.

Daenerys scoffed. "I expected a better lie from the likes of a Lannister…"

"Jon Snow, he's Rhaegar's sire. Isn't he?"

Dany's head turned around at that, shocked at the words. "Wha… what?" First Qyburn… and now Jaime. _Does Cersei know?_ For now, Cersei was content to let Jon come to her. If she knew… Jon would be assassinated in the first instant.

Wordlessly, Jaime took a seat on the stone bunk. Giving Daenerys plenty of space. "Rhaegar… there were only a few he trusted with his secrets. Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell, Ser Gerold… and myself. Lyanna… gods, she was perfect. Rhaegar never stood a chance, the Queen the realm deserved." Blinking in shock, Daenerys stared upon the only man left alive with knowledge of the true beginning of Robert's Rebellion. The true story of her beloved's birth. Jaime smiled wistfully. "Oswell would stay with Rhaegar, Arthur and Gerold would protect the Princess and their child, and I would protect Rhaella, Elia, Aegon, and Rhaenys. They were all still royals, and I believe Rhaegar wanted Elia to be his Queen as much as Lyanna."

"Targaryens answer to neither men nor gods," Daenerys couldn't help but say. "But why were Elia and the children in the city?"

"I managed to send Rhaella to Dragonstone, but once news of Rhaegar's death reached the capitol, Aerys closed the city. Trapping us all in. The rest…" He let it hang, no explanation needed. "My plan was to escape to find Ser Arthur, to get Lyanna and the baby to Dragonstone… But the King… Once it was all over, and Ned Stark finding me at the base of the Iron Throne, I learned that she was dead. I learned that Rhaella was dead. That it was all over." He shut his eyes, forcing the tears back. "I had no purpose anymore, all my oaths either broken or meaningless. I guess… such allowed Cersei to suck me into her web."

Leaning back, Jaime stared at the ceiling. Memories long thrown down the memory hole finally bubbling up again - the Kingslayer allowing himself to ponder them. "For Robert's entire reign, I thought Lyanna dead. I thought their child dead. The kind and wise Prince and his family I had sworn to all murdered by my family and its allies." Watching, Daenerys saw actual grief on Jaime's face. "Thus, when I - in my cocky, arrogant shell of my former self - arrived at Winterfell that fateful journey so long ago, it was like seeing a ghost."

"You… you knew Jon was Rhaegar's son the moment you saw him?" In all honesty, it was more a statement than a question. Daenerys was floored. Few alive remembered the Crown Prince as he truly was. Looking upon it, only Ser Barristan and Jaime Lannister could really make the distinction. _Had Ser Jaime told Robert, or his sister…_ Tears welled in her lids, knowing that Jon could have easily been taken away from her before they even met.

"Aye, I did." Jaime closed his eyes. "His coloring, his eyes, they all are his mother's, but the rest of Jon is so clearly Rhaegar - I'm surprised no one made the connection." He shrugged his shoulders. "No one expected Ned Stark to lie, especially over something so mad as him fathering a bastard… and he did look more like a Stark than his cousins…"

"They accepted the lie without questioning it." Her goodfather's honor saved Jon's life - saved him from a life on the run from the worst variety of sellswords and favor curriers as she and Viserys were forced to endure. He had his own version of hell, but at least Jon hadn't had to worry about a knife to the neck. "Did you tell anyone?"

Jaime shook his head. "No one. I kept my oath to Rhaegar. To defend his children at all costs." Shifting his gaze to Daenerys, he looked at her - really looked at her. Giving her the same comfort that he killed himself inside for not giving to Rhaella. "I have done many terrible things, your Grace. Killed many, brought misery and pain to many, sullied my honor all in the name of those I thought I loved. But if I am to die tomorrow, be it at my sister's hand or by chance, I hope it to be known that Ser Jaime Lannister did honor his oaths to House Targaryen."

Unlike that day in the great hall of Winterfell, her violet eyes met Jaime's green ones without a shred of hatred. In them, she saw an equally damaged person - one that had gone through just as tragic a life as her. "I always hated you, growing up. Listening to Viserys speak of the man who murdered our father." The same conversation as the Great Hall in Winterfell, only this one far more intimate and personal. "Saw you as the evil specter in my nightmares, only instead of my father it was me you would run through with your sword."

The Kingslayer chuckled dryly. "Haven't heard that one before, though it doesn't shock me." Whatever ghost of a smile on his lips fell. "I've certainly been called worse, all for my decision that night. Tyrion told you why I did it, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did." Perhaps had Robert's Rebellion never happened - had Brandon Stark exercised tact or her father had not been mad - this man would have been a close guard to her and her family. They would have been on intimate terms. For her entire life, she hated Jaime Lannister, but in this moment she felt a glimpse of a life she could have had. "You did the right thing." Ready to burn innocents alive… hundreds of thousands of them… at one point, watching as Rhaegal and Drogon were hit by the scorpions. Her fleet set upon by Euron… there was a moment where she wished to lash out at Cersei by any means. It had been fleeting, but a second - resulting in disgust to this day. Daenerys hated herself for just that moment. Her dragonfire burned bright against those that would knowingly hatch such a plan. "Whatever any may say of you, it was the right thing to do."

Silent, Jaime eased off the stone. Slowly lowering himself to his knee. Fulfilling his oath to Rhaegar, to Rhaella. To protect their family.

Before he left, Jaime turned to look upon Rhaella's daughter once more. "The Long Night is over, your Grace. We each know what our honor demands. I have my duty, and you have yours." A silence hung in the cell, the two staring at each other. "There is a crypt, in Dragonstone. One where Rhaegar's most treasured belongings reside. After I returned from seeing Jon Snow in Winterfell, I had them removed from their secret compartment among the dragon heads in the Keep, trusting the loyal maester - who served under your brother as well as Stannis."

_Rhaegar's belongings?_ A connection between her and her brother, and Jon and his true father. Daenerys hoped to witness his expression when she showed it to him. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because… if I am to do what my honor requires from me…" He hung his head, feeling the weight of his family's misdeeds on his shoulders. "I will have to ask a favor of you, Daenerys Stormborn. An impossible choice you have every right to refuse. Call it a gift, a bribe, whatever… I don't care, but I hope that the Mother of the Bay of Dragons will do me this favor when the time is right. To save another innocent life."

His word choice was not lost on Daenerys. _Mhysa, the one that saved Slaver's Bay from bondage. Who gave hope to the innocent._ But what was the impossible choice? What could Jaime ask that would require disclosing such treasures as her brother's most beloved possessions? Daenerys reasoned that whatever it was would test her soul.

But for the woman that nearly gave her life for millions of desperate people who had done nothing for her… there was never any choice. "I promise, Ser Jaime. Whatever you ask of me, if it is within my power, I will do so." She smiled. "For the Protector of the Prince."

It hit Jaime like the greatest of punches. Staggering him. A new moniker, one banishing 'Kingslayer' to the ash heap of history. One that would bring pride to any that read it upon the great book of the Kingsguards - one he had earned. Jaime could almost envision Rhaegar, Ser Arthur, and Ser Barristan smiling upon him from the afterlife. Slowly, quietly, he stepped into the hallway, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Shutting the door to his private office, Qyburn watched the sprinkled candles around him flickering from the gentle breezes wafting from the windows. It was said that the Tower of the Hand was the loneliest place in the entire Red Keep. He understood - and rather liked the solitude. One page to run messages waiting outside, a few young helpers in his personal workshop in the Grand Maester's former quarters, such was all the human contact he needed outside of official business.

_"All forces, bring them back! That bastard won't touch my armies if I have anything to say about it!"_

His Queen's command had been explicit, and Qyburn would be a disloyal or ineffective Hand if he did not carry it out to the letter. With that in mind, he took a seat at his desk, dipped a quill in ink, and brought the instrument to the sheaf of parchment in front of him.

_Commander Strickland,_

_My little birds have sung to me that the bastard Jon Snow is unable to control the dragon he rode in the north, and that the other dragon is gravely wounded upon the cliffs of Dragonstone. Our trap is close to being set._

_The Queen has ordered a full attack, so move from Hayford Castle to the Dusken at once to engage the Targaryen Army. Give them battle until they surrender and are annihilated. If the bastard tries to use his dragon, deploy the new projectiles._

_Burn this upon reading it._

_Qyburn, Hand to Queen Cersei, First of her Name._

Setting down the quill, Qyburn couldn't help the skeletal smile that stretched over his face. He was almost giddy as he called the ten and three year old page to deliver the message to the rookery. Now, all he had to do was sit back and watch the cogs fit into place before his very eyes.

**A/N: Qyburn, you are a bad, bad boy, lol.**

**Big chapter for Jaime Lannister. Who knew he had kept that little secret for his lifetime. While most focus on Jon and Dany, his redemption arc was butchered by Dumb and Dumber as well. Remember the thing about Rhaegar's belongings. It'll be big.**

**So Jon and Dany are having twin dragonwolves... couldn't resist ;)**

**The scene at the campfire was sorely needed in my opinion. After Dany fought with Jon to save their asses, I doubt even the most stubborn northerner wouldn't stand with the Queen.**

**Be sure to review! And check out my other stories Empire of Ice and Fire and Heart of the Blessed!**

**Till next time, where Jon reveals his identity to the world ;)**


	7. Ch 7: A Dragon's Reveal

**A/N: Hey all. Big chapter for Jon!**

**Be sure to review, follow, and fav with your thoughts :D**

Chapter 7: A Dragon's Reveal

The voice barked from outside the tent flap. _"Udrāzmio, issi ao bē?"_

While Grey Worm had every incentive for just remaining asleep, years of training had conditioned his rest to be light and his senses to be alert. His eyes opened immediately - groaning._ "Skoros iksis ziry, Timpa Grēges?"_ At the words, a very nude Missandei stirred, nuzzling further against his chest. A more beautiful sight, Grey Worn hadn't ever seen… orders had been for White Ant and the other commanders to leave him be unless it was urgent. _"Sȳrī?"_

"Ya better get out here, ya dumb cunt!" The booming baritone of Marden Tanner was enough to pull the last sleep away from him - and pull Missandei out of her slumber.

_"Turgon Nudha…"_ she mumbled sleepily.

"I know bout your girl and our fuckin', but it's important!"

Hearing, Missandei blushed. Grey Worm clenched his teeth. "Tanner… fuck off!"

As the burly northerner bellowed a merry laughter, White Ant continued. _"Istia māzigon, se zaldrīzes iksis kesīr."_

That got them both up, wide awake. _"Skoros!"_ Grey Worm shouted, grabbing his leathers as Missandei went for her thick dress - so much for enjoying a quiet morning, though the thought of Daenerys actually having escaped was too important to pass. _"Iksis ziry zirȳla dārōñe?"_

_"Daor, udrāzmio. Se kasta mēre."_

Well, that hope was gone. But still they dressed. Jon Snow arriving with Rhaegal was an urgency that merited the intrusion. Sighing, the Unsullied Commander fastened the straps of his cuirass. "Missandei." She looked up at him with her beautiful brown eyes. "I am not comfortable with Lord Snow taking our Queen's place."

"You don't have to worry, my love," Missandei replied, smoothing out her dress. When alone, they spoke Common Tongue as much as possible - making sure Grey Worm was fluent now that they were in Westeros. "His Grace has Her Grace's best interests in mind. I am certain of it."

Grey Worm raised an eyebrow. "His Grace? Queen Daenerys not marry him."

Oh, how little you know, my dear Grey Worm. Missandei bit back a knowing smirk. Walking over and looping her arms around her lover. "You trust me, don't you?" Offering a small smile, Grey Worm nodded. "Good, so you'll trust me when I say that Lord Snow rivals you and I in loyalty towards Queen Daenerys." She leaned in to kiss him sweetly.

The kiss had just deepened when Marden Tanner burst in, causing them to break apart. "Whoa…" He wore the biggest leer on his face. "Sorry to interrupt yeur' fuckin', but the dragon's bout to land!"

Dozens of Lords both major and minor - along with thousands of onlookers - crowded on the outskirts of the large field where Rhaegal was circling. Where the green dragon landed with a thud, roaring his return to the Targaryen Army with a fiery fury. One all were glad to have on their side. But in one swoop the collected men and women gasped. Stunned silent except for Missandei, who hid a smirk.

Climbing down from Rhaegal's back, Jon hopped onto the ground. Mud squelching beneath his boots. Gazing out at the onlookers, noting their disbelief at his appearance. His hair was tied back in its normal bun, Longclaw fastened to his hip. There, the similarities to his normal dress ended - all else a radical change. The thick fur cloak was replaced with a cape of dark red, leathers and chain mail also did away with. Instead, Jon was covered with a light armor plate, black leather underneath lined with red felt. Two snarling Stark direwolves adorned his gorget on either side of his neck, but the effect of them was negated by what was emblazoned on his chest plate. A three-headed Targaryen Dragon in bright crimson.

Visible to all.

Unperturbed, he trudged forward and stroked Rhaegal's snout. "Think we gave a good entrance boy? Stunned them all?" The snort of hot air answered in the affirmative, Jon chuckling softly. "Go find some food. I'll take care of things and then come find you." A hoot from Rhaegal and he took off with a gust of air from the massive wings. Turning, Jon was faced with Ghost. "Let's go, Ghost." A quick ruffle on the head and the direwolf fell in line behind his father.

Reaching the front of the crowd, Lord Royce, Lord Tully, Grey Worm, and - surprisingly - Lady Mormont all bowed. "Welcome back, Lord Snow," began Edmure Tully, eyeing the dragon on Jon's chest plate with unease.

"Thank you, Lord Tully. I am glad to be back with my men." It was true… the actual fighting men. He spotted a new sigil. One of a shooting star crossing a sword. The Dornish have arrived! "Lord Dayne, I am heartened by your arrival." A grin formed on Jon's face. "And is that the famous Dawn?"

Edric Dayne offered a smile. "Aye, Lord Snow. Carried by my Uncle Arthur himself." He couldn't help but feel pride of that fact. "The entire Dornish relief force has reached the camp, as has some Stormlanders. Lord Hightower's son Ser Baelor will be here within the hour, and the bulk of his men on the morrow." A better development Jon couldn't have asked for.

"Such is good, Lord Snow, along with your arrival. Your council has been greatly needed," Royce responded. "The Golden Company is on the move from Hayford Castle."

Jon's gaze darkened. _Fuck, they move fast._ He would need to retake the initiative, but first… "We will meet in the command tent. I have something major to discuss with all of you. The Lady Missandei and Commander Grey Worm will escort me to my tent for a quick refreshment, and then I will meet you there. No exceptions." None had asked yet about the choice of dress, for which Jon was grateful. Better to be in - semi - privacy.

He could feel the pinpricks of eyes - dozens or hundreds of eyes - on him as he trudged through the camp. Honestly, Jon didn't blame them. The great White Wolf of the North was legendary among the forces of Westeros gathered in the large camp north of the Dusken. Trotting by his side, Ghost was simply part of his legend. Rhaegal… less so, but he had ridden the green dragon during the Long Night so he was baked in. But dressed from head to toe in the colors of Aegon the Conqueror, led by the foreign translator and foreign slave soldier of the Dragon Queen… Such was different. Such was puzzling at best and fearful at worst.

What happened to their King in the North?

As they approached their tent, it became clear that one among the onlookers could answer that question. "Lord Snow!" Stilling in his tracks, Jon looked over to see a man the age of his fath… uncle, short but with a spry power. "Or should I say, your Grace?"

Grey Worm eyed him suspiciously, but it was Missandei that the hint drew out her protective, guarded anger. "And who are you to speak to Lord Snow that way?" Weeks had passed since the Naathi translator saw Jon and Daenerys as one unit, and owed loyalty to both.

"Forgive me, my Lady. I am…"

"Howland Reed," Jon finished the man's sentence for him. "Lord of Greywater Watch and friend of my… father." He reached out his hand, letting Howland clasp it. "Your men were most appreciated during the Long Night, though you weren't present."

"Apologies for that, your Grace. I'm not that spry as I used to be, and would just be a liability for my men. Meera led them well enough."

Jon nodded. "Aye, she did." He eyed the short lord warily. "Well, I shall see you in the command tent."

Instead of breaking off, Howland clasped Jon's hand with the other as well… Grey Worm's hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword. "Your mother would be so proud of you, your Grace."

Eyes widening, Jon felt his throat start to dry. Worry start to bubble up. "Not here," he whispered harshly.

"Shall I deal with this man, Lord Snow?" Grey Worm asked.

Shaking his head, Jon motioned for Ghost to go inside the tent. "Go to high command. I shall speak to Lord Reed alone." He was faced with Missandei's raised brow. "It is alright, Missandei. I can defend myself."

Wanting to protest further, Missandei instead sighed and curtseyed. "As you wish, your Grace." Grabbing Grey Worm by the arm, she led him away. _I hope you know what you are doing, Aegon._

The tent flap swayed as Jon led Howland in. Seeing Ghost curl up next to the dying fire, Jon reached for the woodpile and dumped a log onto the flames. Manipulating it with his poker until the fire was roaring again. "So you know," Howland said simply. A statement rather than a question.

There needed not another explanation. "Aye, I know." Jon didn't even need to ask how Howland of all people knew. "You were with my uncle that day. Facing the Sword of the Morning."

"Everyone knows that story, aye. That half a dozen men went into Dorne and only I, Ned, his sister's body, and his bastard son came out. But few know the truth about the latter two." Howland looked him over with tired but piercing hazel eyes. "I won't ask how you know, but who else is among us?"

At that moment, Jon decided he could trust Lord Reed. The man kept the secret longer than his uncle, after all. "Myself, Daenerys, Lady Missandei, Lord Tyrion, Lord Davos, my… siblings, Samwell Tarly, and… Lord Varys."

Howland whistled. "It's getting away from you, your Grace. Best disclose it on your own terms before someone else does on theirs."

"I was planning on that."

"Given your choice of dress, I deduced that." Expression earnest, Howland rested his hand on Jon's shoulder. "I owe your mother a lot, your Grace. She was… the best woman I've ever known." The lord of Greywater Watch grew misty-eyed. Jon understood, for he was the same despite himself. "You'll have me to support your claim to the other Lords, as well as my loyalty and fealty in the battles to come, King Aegon."

Looking up, Jon peered at Howland. It still sounded strange, but he knew he was going to have to get used to it.

* * *

_"The northern lords will not like this," Varys observed, as calm and collected as ever._

_"When have those stubborn shits liked anything?" Davos, however, was biting. "At this point they owe their Grace's their fookin' lives. They should show gratitude, on their hands and knees if need be!"_

_Five figures sat around the painted table, last among those residing on Dragonstone. Jon had ordered all but a skeleton crew of castilians to the mainland, and the advisors would be the last to ship off. "Reality is a fickle thing. What ought and what will are quite different."_

_"They should be made to show gratitude, then." Missandei held quite the uncharacteristic annoyance. "His Grace's dragon will turn heads."_

_"Forcing compliance by dragon is one of those tactics the Queen sailed across the Narrow Sea to avoid," Tyrion commented tersely. "I see both sides, but would be cautious of how to tell the Westerosi… or bear in mind even the Dothraki…"_

_The figure at the head of the table hung his head, done with the bickering. "Enough!" Silence followed. "Too many know. I fear it will become knowledge soon, so perhaps I should follow my Hand's advice and preempt it myself."_

_Wincing slightly, Varys leaned in. "The Lords of the North, Vale, and Riverlands swore to follow the bastard son of Eddard Stark, not a Targaryen. It can be sorted out when the war is won, but now is not the time."_

_A scoff from Davos. "And when would the time be then? I doubt you want his true name out at all."_

_"That is not true, Lord Davos. I just wish for our King's fragile command not to disintegrate. He is honorable as his uncle. That is what he should embrace."_

_"How will restraint keep my children alive?" Jon's fists clenched. "I need to defeat Cersei's armies in the field, and to do so will need the trust of my command."_

_Tyrion sipped at his watered wine - a compromise between him and his King. "I'm sure they already trust you…"_

_"What if her Grace isn't with child?" All eyes turned to Varys. "I'm not claiming it to be so, but we should consider the possibility."_

_"Are you saying my child is a lie Lord Varys?" Jon's voice burned, controlled anger dripping from every word._

_Varys shook his head, easing down the angry dragon before him - he was quite the expert, considering he was a close confidant of the Mad King. "I'm not saying I personally believe such, but wouldn't it make sense for Cersei to try and goad you into doing something impulsive?"_

_Jon glowered darkly, but didn't unleash the dragon at Varys. Instead, he shifted to the Imp. "Lord Tyrion, do you believe that your sister could be lying about my child?"_

_Pursing his lips, Tyrion took a moment. A long moment. Eyes narrowed and forehead wrinkled in thought. "While I do believe…" he began, drawing out his words. "That my sister is capable of hatching such a mad scheme as this in order to drive you to do something utterly mad yourself - she bankrolled the Faith Militant right into the ability to imprison her - I don't think she would lie about this. It's just too… complicated. Why give the Targaryen Army an heir to fight for? On the other hand… it sounds just like something she'd do. Cersei has lost it."_

_Rolling her eyes at Tyrion, Missandei gave Jon an urgent look. "Tell me, your Grace. When you looked at her Grace, did she look like Cersei was not telling the truth?"_

_Sighing, Jon hung his head. "No. She looked afraid."_

_"She is with child, then. I am positive." Missandei watched as Jon's scowl deepened, shoulders slackened, and eyes start to lose their luster. Daenerys had wanted a child more than anything, and Missandei knew that Jon wanted the same with the Queen. Elation turned morose in the current situation, and it was up to their advisors to keep their spirits up. "Davos' plan is the right thing to do. It gives you complete legitimacy while also shielding our Queen." A look to Varys found the man nonplussed - Missandei didn't buy it._

_A sigh left Jon's lips. "It isn't honorable to lie."_

_Are all Northmen this stubborn, or is it a Targaryen thing? Her time with Daenerys answered that question in favor of the latter. "Your Grace…" Missandei stated, hoping to get through to him. "When the Lady Melisandre told us of you, I went to the library here on Dragonstone and read up on the North._

_Jon's brow rose, expression morphing into something more neutral. "Go on."_

_"The Kings of Winter read like a fascinating tale, how they fought to unite the North against the Bolton Red Kings and fight against the Andal invaders."_

_"Aye, they were the only Kingdom of First Men to retain their independence." Jon was proud of his mother's heritage, of his uncle's._

_Missandei nodded, eying Davos for a moment before continuing. "Lady Olenna Tyrell told her Grace before the first campaign against Cersei started, that if she was to get the Lords of Westeros in line behind her, that she couldn't be a sheep. That she should be a dragon. Aegon conquered the whole of Westeros, your Grace." She looked around. Davos was beaming at her statements, Tyrion intrigued, and Varys affronted. It isn't up to you, you little shit. "And Theon the Hungry fought the Andals to a standstill, sailing to Essos to bring them to heel. Neither bloodline allowed themselves to be sheep." Missandei looked Jon straight in the eye. "You are a dragon, and a wolf. Be a dragon, and a wolf."_

The words of Daenerys' most trusted confidant and advisor - now slowly becoming his along with Davos - still repeated themselves. Playing on a loop in his mind over and over again as he walked into the command tent. Watching each of the Lords. The grim and boisterous northerners, those he grew up with, both thirsting for revenge and eying him doubtfully. The Rivermen and Vale Knights, wary of him. The Reach and Dornish, more curious than anything as to who they were now allied to. The Free Folk, still gazing at him as some kind of god. The Dothraki, visibly contemptuous of him. And lastly his small council, still divided into the same lines as the meeting a few days prior.

"Shall we begin, my Lords?" _Best get it over with._ "Upon arriving at Dragonstone a month ago, her Grace the Queen Daenerys was ambushed by Euron Greyjoy and the Iron Fleet. We believe that this was due to faulty intelligence that placed the Iron Fleet close to Blackwater Bay." Jon didn't have any evidence to this, but it was a sure bet. _Even the most feebleminded idiot out there wouldn't forget about Euron._ "She was captured and placed in the Black Cells of the Red Keep."

Murmurs among the lords, including some rather guttural chatter between the bloodriders. "So whose orders have we been getting?" asked Alys Karstark, standing next to her betrothed, Sigorn of the Thenns.

"Mine," Jon replied. "I have assumed command in her Grace's absence, ordering our forces here instead of closer to King's Landing and replacing Tyrion Lannister as Hand with Davos Seaworth."

Grey Worm opened his mouth to continue his argument from weeks before, but was stopped by an insistent glare from Missandei. Instead, Rokharo was the one to speak. Voice sounding quite angry. "He asks… essentially what gives you the authority to give us these orders? Or to wear the Queen's dragon on your armor?" From how Missandei translated, it appeared Rokharo used far more profanity than she was willing to communicate.

_Wish me luck, father._ "Because I am the true King."

Several blinks chorused around the room. "I'm sorry, Lord Snow." It was Ser Baelor Hightower - the newcomer. "But it is my knowledge that you bent the knee to Queen Daenerys, extinguishing your claim to be King in the North."

"Not King in the North, but King of the Seven Kingdoms."

Darting in before any mood could set in, Missandei cleared her throat. "You stand in the presence of Aegon Lightbringer of House Targaryen, Sixth of his Name. Rightful King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men, Father of Dragons and Prince who was Promised. The Resurrected. The White Wolf, the Hidden Dragon. Friend of the Free Folk and Protector of the Realm." She and Davos had fun in picking titles for him. Jon had the urge to shrink in modesty, but willed himself to stand tall and firm.

There was silence. One could hear a pin drop in the tent. "Is this some kind of joke?" Lord Royce asked, incredulous.

"This is madness," stated Edmure Tully. "What the hells is this about?"

"It is not madness, Lord Tully." Jon took several scrolls from Davos, who stood behind him. He hadn't wished for Sam to have given them to him when they left Winterfell, but now he was glad for the fact. "Samwell Tarly, rightful Lord of Horn Hill." A quick glance to the lords of the Reach. "Informed me of my true birth before the Long Night. That I am the son of Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and his wife Princess Lyanna Stark Targaryen. In these documents, you will find the diary of High Septon Maynard in which he annulled Rhaegar's first marriage, and documented his wedding to Lyanna Stark - who was pregnant with myself at the time."

The documents were passed around, eager Lords leafing through them. "This is… fantastic to me, my Lord," Royce said, skeptically. "You have to admit, it's far-fetched for the heir to the throne to live as the bastard of Ned Stark?"

A loud whistle echoed through the room. Jon smirked - Tormund. "Ah shut up! Why do ya' think this Crow can ride a fookin' dragon? Gots to be some of 'dat dragon blood in 'em." He laughed. "Finally makes sense!"

While the Free Folk were still seen as outsiders by most, Tormund's logic was turning heads. "I don't believe it. It's impossible." Lord Robett Glover was tagged by Jon and Davos as a likely naysayer. "Lyanna was raped by Rhaegar. I don't know who this Sam Tarly is, but he sounds like a damned liar…"

"Am I a damned liar, Lord Glover?" All eyes turned to Howland Reed. The older man was angry himself, fury in his eyes. "I saw the She-Wolf on her deathbed. Saw her give her beloved Prince to my friend Ned Stark! Saw her tell him everything, about how she loved Rhaegar and wished to marry him instead of the whoring drunk Robert Baratheon! Now her beloved Prince stands before you with evidence, but you deny him and his identity!" He slammed his fists on the table. "We fought a war for the She-Wolf, and now we spit on her memory."

Further silence, the Lords rather stunned. "None of us think you are a liar, Lord Howland," the She-Bear of Bear Island stated. The fact that Jon was the true King starting to fall in place. "My Lor… Your Grace." Lyanna Mormont believed it immediately. Jon learned from Ned Stark, and the great Lord of Winterfell wouldn't lie unless it was to protect an even greater oath. "We stand behind you, King Aegon. I swore to the man with Ned Stark's blood, and now I swear to the man with Lyanna Stark's blood."

Several other Lords began to swear to Jon, some actually gleeful at the fact, before Rokharo drew his blade - leading to Grey Worm to draw his. The bloodrider hissed at Jon, Missandei quickly translating. "Dothraki follow strength, and the Khaleesi is strong. You are not our Khal just because the Khaleesi seeks out your… cock." Tormund actually laughed boisterously at that. "We will not follow you. Only the Khaleesi."

Feeling the dragon rise, Jon looked at the bloodrider. "I am your Khal as she is your Khaleesi. If you do not follow me, I will kill you." If the Dothraki only followed strength, then he knew that he would have to defeat their strongest in a blood duel. "Outside the tent, one hour."

The bloodrider laughed. "I will enjoy cutting his pretty hair."

Storming out, the Dothraki left a still stunned gathering. "Well, any further questions, my Lords?"

"What do you intend to do with this information?" asked Lord Royce. Where he went, the Vale would go. And he seemed to be moving to Jon's side.

Jon pointed at the marker for King's Landing on the map. "I shall defeat Cersei Lannister, free Daenerys, and assert our claim to the throne."

That set off the firestorm that Jon expected. "Our claim?!" Lord Tully, Sansa's uncle and not someone inclined to support a Targaryen, shouted. "If what you're telling us is true, the Dragon Queen has no claim to the throne!"

"You would rule alone. She is merely a foreign interloper and usurper," commented Ser Hightower.

Grey Worm seethed. "You would be dead if not for Queen Daenerys. She is Queen we Choose."

"Not by me," hissed Edmure.

"But by me, Lord Tully." Attention was back to Jon. "Daenerys is carrying my child." Gasps all around. "Before she left for Dragonstone we were married in the Winterfell Godswood." Ned Stark had taught him not to lie, but just as he had lied to protect Jon, so too did Jon need to lie to protect Daenerys. "She is my wife, my Lords. Carrying the Crown Prince inside her and the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

"She is nothing but a foreign whore. One I will never support!"

One could feel the temperature of the room rise several degrees - a far off roar shaking the ground and a growling direwolf filling the tent. "Watch your words, Lord Glover."

"I shall not. You are the true King. Now is your chance to bring justice for our Kingdom! Do you think the daughter of the Mad King would have our best interests at heart? The daughter of the man that burned your grandfather and uncle alive?"

"I am well aware of the history of _our_ family, Lord Glover. But I don't hold Daenerys to the same standards as her father. My grandfather."

Ser Baelor huffed. "She burned Randyll Tarly alive."

"Randyll Tarly was a traitor and an oathbreaker," Lord Royce sneered. "I would have done the same."

"Regardless, I will not support any dragonspawn," hissed Glover."

Jon glared. "You support me."

"You have the blood of the She-Wolf. Of course I would support you over the Dragon Whore."

Another roar, this one far louder, boomed into the tent. "Support me?" Jon's voice took a dark character. "Like when you abandoned us at Winterfell to fight the dead alone? Where my wife and I lost countless friends, nearly lost countless loved ones - humanity nearly died! And you claim to support me!"

Looking much like a puffed up peacock, the old man didn't stop. "I support anyone of the North who fights for the North, but it appears your priorities are not on straight. You marry her without telling your Lords. You destroy the chance of the North to be independent, spit on the dreams of your own brother, while also making the same foolish mistakes as he did? And for what, Jon Snow, just because you want to stick your cock in some foreign cunt?!"

Barely a second passed before Jon's fist flew from his side, Glover's nose crunching as it slammed into him. Two more punches flew out, knocking the man to the floor. "Lord Fucking Glover!" Jon punched him in the stomach. "The only reason you still have a head is because I need your men! If you dare act in a manner that would hurt my wife or my children, not only will I kill you, but I'll bring back the Blood Eagle to make an example of you!"

The lord of Deepwood Motte trembled in his grasp, eyes wide with fear. This was not Eddard Stark, nor the Mad King. This was Aegon the Conqueror. This was Theon the Hungry Wolf. A dragonwolf protecting his wife and cubs.

Another punch, blood sprinkling from Lord Glover's mouth and staining the grass below. Jon's fist throbbed, but he cared not. "Listen to me closely you little shit," he hissed, venom in his voice. "Nothing will stand between me and her. Not Cersei Lannister! Not the Iron Fleet! Not an army of corpses!" All eyes were wide with fear in the tent except for Davos, Missandei… and a hooded figure hidden in the rear. "I FACED DEATH ITSELF! ALL FOR HER!" Image of Dany at King's Landing… her only words being her love for him… they drove his pain. Stoked his fury hotter than Rhaegal's flames. Turned his eyes a dark violet-grey… "No cowardly, bitter old men will threaten to take my Queen away from me! Targaryen's answer to neither Gods nor Men, and neither do Starks!"

"Please… your Grace…" Lord Glover babbled. "Mercy…"

He was faced with the darkest rage any of the men present - even those that had known the Mad King - had ever seen. "I swear upon the old gods and the new, if anyone. ANYONE! Dares speak out against my Queen again, I WILL FEED THEM TO MY DRAGON! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?!"

None answered. None dared to answer, all knowing that Jon was absolutely serious.

"I saw how all of you treated Daenerys. She saved all of your fucking lives, and yet you treated her like rank shit. Her men love her, her people love her. My men, my people… they all love her. I love her, but all of you are too petty and stupid to give up an ounce of pride to acknowledge her as your Queen even though she earned it far more than I did. I will say this, my Lords. If you wish to follow me, you must follow her as well."

And with that, Aegon Targaryen left the tent with a whoosh of his cloak.

* * *

Word had spread like wildfire about the battle. The duel between a fearsome Dothraki bloodrider and the hidden Targaryen Prince! Who was actually Lord Jon Snow! While the bored soldiers and bannermen would have been eager to watch a duel, the fact that Jon was participating under such circumstances caused a flood of men to pack the field to the west of the camp to watch it happen.

Many a bet was made, all but the Free Folk and Northerners favoring the bloodrider. A northerner didn't betray his own, while the Free Folk would be damned if they didn't support the Crow Who Rose.

Taking slaps on the back from his comrades, jeering and undulating his hips lewdly, Rokharo clearly didn't understand humility. Jon, however, stood alone. Hand on the hilt of his sword, he was stripped down to his boiled leather cuirass - also emblazoned with the three-headed dragon. _"I will use your cock as a bit for my horse!"_

Holding a hand up so that Missandei wouldn't bother translating, Jon got the gist of it. "Let us begin."

Rokharro let out a battlecry and charged, thick muscles bulging as he swung. Jon, leapt back, Longclaw drawn. Dodging the first heavy blow, the others were far less forceful. Steel clashing on steel - Jon parrying with ease. Not breaking a sweat. Sword twirling and batting the arakh aside before sending an uppercut into Rokharo's chin. The bloodrider staggering.

Jon smirked, still twirling his bastard blade. "Had enough?"

His words only seemed to enrage the Dothraki, screaming and charging again. This time crashing into Jon through his shoulders. Forcing the King to stagger back, nearly on his knees.

Missandei cringed, while Davos yelled at his King. "Come on! Footwork! Footwork!"

"Ya killed a Thenn Magnar, fucking Crow!' Tormund was just as invested, Tyrion beside him making motions with his fists. "Fucking destroy the fucker!" His wasn't the only shout, the entire crowd in awe at the furious duel.

Taking punch after punch, fist and arakh hilt knocking the wind out of him, Jon surged his energy to kick Rokharo in the shin. Forcing him to break off. Allowing the two to catch their breath.

_"He's got nothing!"_ Qhono, another bloodrider, yelled.

_"He's not human,"_ murmured Rokharo. Attacking again, but feeling the fatigue begin to take hold. The arakh slashed at Jon, Rokharo using a surprising agility to overcome two parries and slice across Jon's side. A light wound, but one that stung.

Red filled Jon's vision. A literal roar leaving his throat, Jon rammed into Rokharo. Knocking him off balance before a hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him forward. Head slamming into his. A wild lashing out of the arakh was easily batted aside, Jon bellowing his own battle cry as he brought Longclaw's hilt down on the bloodrider's wrist.

The arakh clattered to the ground, Rokharo falling to his knees. Jon brought the blade to his neck. "Yield," ground out the King. Nodding, the Dothraki bloodrider was allowed to pick up his blade and draw back. Silently grabbing his braid and cutting it half way - full for actual battle, half for a spar.

_"You truly are my Khal,"_ he said with a humble respect through Missandei.

Sheathing Longclaw, Jon turned his head around, gazing at each of the hundreds of onlookers. "Hear me now! Men of Westeros!" His voice boomed. "I am Aegon Targaryen! Born of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark! Husband of Daenerys Targaryen and rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms! My wife promised long ago that she would break the wheel, to create a world better than the shit one we all live in. To claim the Iron Throne to do so, but only to give up such a fight to save humanity along with me from the threat of the Long Night. Now, she and I join together to fulfill that promise - to overthrow Cersei Lannister and break the wheel."

He cleared his throat. "So I ask you now - give you a choice - do you wish to leave? Or do you wish to join us in this fight?!"

A great cheer rose up from the army. Exultant cheers of the men-at-arms joining with the whoops of the northerners, battlecries from the Free Folk, chants from the Dothraki, and the spears against shields of the Unsullied. All men of the united army pledging themselves to Aegon and Daenerys Targaryen once again. It was both humbling and elevating to Jon, allowing himself to bask in the adoration…

A wisp of red hair poking from underneath a hood. Small smile on the feminine face that he knew so well. Someone he would have to face eventually. _Sansa..._

**A/N: Aegon Targaryen is born!**

**Thanks to Dakkaman777 for his help on the Glover fight.**

**Translations:**

**_Udrāzmio, issi ao bē = Commander, you there?_**

**_Skoros iksis ziry = What is it?_**

**_Istia māzigon, se zaldrīzes iksis kesīr = you must come, dragon is here_**

**_Iksis ziry zirȳla dārōñe = Is it her grace_**

**_Daor, udrāzmio. Se kasta mēre = No, commander. the green one._**

**Hope y'all liked the dig about forgetting the Iron Fleet.**

**Glover got what was coming to him, didn't he?**

**Be sure to review! And check out my other stories Empire of Ice and Fire and Heart of the Blessed!**

**Next time, the convo with Sansa ;)**


	8. Ch 8: A Dragon's Pack

**A/N: The update everyone is eager to see.**

**I've been thinking of a new story idea, one for a series of stories rather. I'd like to do a Jonerys tale where Jon grows up a Prince, but the story begins before Jon and Dany in an alternate life of Rhaegar and Lyanna. Where it isn't Robert that rebels against the Targaryens, but Rhaegar rebelling against Aerys after marrying Lyanna. Would all of you be interested in such a story?**

**Be sure to review, follow, and fav with your thoughts :D**

Chapter 8: A Dragon's Pack

"Full attack?" Lyle Crakehall rubbed a hand down his face. Winter may have chilled the land around him, but beneath his thick plate and woollen gambeson, he was sweating like mad. "There's no way that these are the orders."

Harry Strickland frowned. The dour High Captain of the Golden Company and Commander in Chief of the Royal Army didn't seem to have any pleasant expressions in his quiver. Didn't bother Lyle, but his uncompromising adherence to orders - no matter how stupid - did. "They are. Adorned with the seal of the Hand himself."

It wasn't just Lyle that was having trouble reconciling military tactics with the orders given. "Lord Crakehall is correct, commander," stated Addam Marbrand. "It makes no sense as to why we would take on the Targaryens in the open. Not while they have two dragons."

"One of the dragons is wounded and abandoned on Dragonstone, while the other is wild and not tethered to the bastard he rides."

Still, something didn't smell right to Lyle. "We can't even risk against one dragon that can't be controlled. Our forces perished at the Fields of Fire for even trying."

"The Targaryen forces are no longer understrength," Leo Lefford pointed at the map. "They received at least ten thousand men from Dorne and the Reach, negating our advantage from securing the other Sellsword companies…"

Strickland put his hand down. "My Captains and I already have a strategy for facing down one dragon, and we can win with even numbers. Put one of my men against any wildling or Dothraki savage and they will come out on top." He put on his helmet. "Orders are orders. We advance on the Dusken while they cross."

After he left, the lords of the Westerlands and Crownlands murmured amongst themselves. "I still don't like this," murmured Lord Hayford.

"Our Queen gave her orders," countered Gawen Westerling.

Lyle stroked his chin. "There are other Queens… and Kings." The fact none of the Lords present spoke out against him was quite telling.

* * *

No guards. No advisors, not even Missandei or Davos - two he could trust with his life. Even Ghost wasn't present, such lengths Jon was willing to go to ensure the appearance of solitude and privacy. Normally, one would call such a person paranoid. But Jon had enemies everywhere…

And Sansa Stark was no ordinary guest. He had waited until nightfall to finally call her to his tent. Small smile still formed on her beautiful, proper face. Jon half wanted to hug his sister, and half wanted to strangle her in the same - because of her he was in the mess he was in, but was willing to hear her out. Hoping against all hope that she could be redeemed in a way that few others could.

_The pack survives._

"It would be better for the both of us, sister, if we choose not to lie or mislead each other," he began.

"I agree. I don't intend to lie to you, Aegon." Sansa eyed him, appreciatively. "Red and black suit you, your Grace," curtseying half-seriously. "I would make it official and bend the knee to King Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of his name, but I see that you've already gained the fealty of the Northern lords." She smirked. "I am greatly impressed."

Jon stared at her as if she had spouted two heads. Granted, he wasn't allowed to spend too much time with her during their childhood - and the beautiful northern lady had been a guarded enigma thanks to Ramsay fucking Bolton - but the person before him was utterly alien to him. _What had she done? What does she want?_ He had been prepared to face a woman who wanted to destroy Dany to secure Northern Independence, but already he was facing someone altogether different.

"So you've accepted it?" Jon's voice was flat, searching. "Arya fled to King's Landing the moment I told her… so did Daenerys, now that I think about it. Pushed me away from her, demanding that I carry the line of House Targaryen." This was not the time to dance around the issue.

Frowning, Sansa stepped forward to hug him. "I'm sorry, Aegon. I could tell how much you loved her." A gentle kiss was pressed on his cheek. "But you are the King according to all rights of succession, both by the common rule and the Dornish rule. She doesn't really have a choice in what you decide to do."

His fists clenched - Jon would never hurt his sister, but she was getting close to crossing a line. "Dany was operating on a false source of information, as to her 'barrenness.' She carries my child. Your niece or nephew."

For the first time that night, Sansa looked at him with surprise. Not the resigned fear he expected, but something more to that of an unexpected treat. _Did I misread her entire intent?_ Perhaps he had assumed the worst of his sister as Dany had assumed the worst of their entire situation - but that did not absolve Sansa of her sins. Not in the slightest.

"Oh, Aegon." Though the presence of Cersei and the hostile army in King's Landing obscured everything, Sansa was finally confident in victory. Firmly believing in her brother the King, knowing he could defeat Cersei and bring peace to the Seven Kingdoms. She hugged him again, a warm embrace with only the third person alive she could so trust. "I am delighted for you. A Crown Prince or Princess for the realm. The beginning of a new age."

"And Daenerys?" he rasped. "What of her?"

The next words made his blood boil. "I have nothing against her, brother. As long as she serves her rightful King."

"Let us cut to the point, sister." Jon pushed her away, glaring at her. "Did you tell Tyrion or Varys of my true heritage? Of my true name?"

"Yes." No form of hesitance. All forms of pride… Sansa looked so much like her mother in that moment. It was uncanny. "Tyrion came to try and convince me to trust Queen Daenerys, and that I should let you go south. I replied that a Stark never fared well in the south, but that you were not a Stark. That you did belong there as much as you did in Winterfell."

Running his hands through his hair - a habit he and Robb had picked up from Ned Stark, the fact of which often grounded him during his identity crisis - Jon really couldn't believe how glib Sansa was over being an oathbreaker. "I don't get it, Sansa. I still have difficulty wrapping my head around this. You learned from Father about the importance of oaths, and yet you decide to break one made in the shadow of the weirwood tree with the ease of snapping a twig in half."

Now it was Sansa's turn to glare at him - the hardened woman created by Cersei and Littlefinger returning… but peering into her eyes, Jon could see more of the stubborn Catelyn Stark than the other two. "Our father was a good man, Aegon, but his 'Oaths' ended up killing him. I heard stories in King's Landing, of how he and Renly had the opportunity to take the throne from Cersei and Joffrey before Robert's death. But he didn't. His honor meant he had to support Stannis… and that fact condemned me to a life of all seven hells." Sansa seethed, memories surging forth. "Raped, nearly raped, brutalized… all was owed to 'oaths,' so don't give me that, Aegon!"

"My name is not Aegon!" _What could make her keep calling me that…_ It suddenly came to him. _Oh, Sansa. You are so much like your mother._ "So you freely admit that an oath from you means nothing. What do you hold sacred, Sansa?"

"Family. You, me, Arya, and Bran. Bound by blood. Our father taught us that too, that the pack survives when the lone wolves bind together… and we only have each other to trust. Three wolves and a dragonwolf."

"Daenerys is part of my pack, Sansa. She is as much blood and family as you, Bran, or Arya."

She scowled. "I'm not averse to that, but she wants to be the Queen. The 'true' Queen. Such is a lie, and taking away your birthright." She trembled from anger, and Jon realized that she was angry not for herself, but on his behalf. Something Cersei or Littlefinger would never do… but an emotion he had seen from Lady Stark on more than one occasion. "You were treated like a bastard all your life, but you aren't. I know you forgave me of my being an ass to you, but do you think I can live with myself if I let the rest of the world treat you as I did. As my mother did?" Sansa poked him in the chest. "If you do, then you have another thing coming. I will protect this pack with my life, and if Daenerys wishes to be in it then she has to acknowledge you as the King you are."

"I never wanted it, Sansa!" Jon felt tired. So damn tired. Being among the Free Folk had given him a taste of true freedom - a small part of him wished he could take Dany, Ghost, and their child and ride with Rhaegal and Drogon somewhere free. "I don't want it still."

"And yet you took the initiative and became the King you were born to be, Aegon." Her smile returned, placing a hand on his arm. "I am proud of you, brother. You've become a great leader."

"Daenerys is a great leader."

She rolled her eyes. "The Northern Lords would have never supported her on her own." Looking at the brazier, she watched as the flames danced and flickered within. "We want independence, we deserved it, after all we suffered. And I was ready to fight for you to be King in the North, your supposedly proper place." Sansa then turned, meeting his eyes. "But then I learned you were Aegon Targaryen. A southern prince that we would be honored to follow. One that I will proudly serve as Wardeness of the North."

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose. "You never allowed yourselves to see the Daenerys that I saw. _The Queen I chose._"

Shaking her head, Sansa sighed. "It's irrelevant at this point. You are King. The news is out." She gave him a knowing cock of her head. "I know you lied about marrying her. A smart move if you want to avoid power squabbling. Aegon, you have become a shrewd ruler that father or Robb never were. Abandoning such foolish oaths to proclaim your birthright or leave the Night's Watch…"

His entire expression darkened. "I never broke my oath to the Night's Watch."

Sansa blinked. "What?" She didn't know. No one had told her, and Jon talked about it to no one. "But the vows are for life."

Beyond caring, Jon's hands went to his tunic, swiftly unlacing it and pulling it from his shoulders. Hearing Sansa's pained gasp echo through the tent, seeing tears form in her eyes - how close she came to losing the one person who could protect her without even knowing it. Nearly identical to Dany's only sisterly rather than romantically. "My watch ended as soon as they drove the knife into my heart. Once the Lady Melisandre brought me back, I was absolved of all oaths."

Wrapping her arms protectively around her, she stared at Jon through watery eyes. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Jon reached out to grab her shoulders, steadying her. "It doesn't matter. None of that matters - all that matters is what we do, Sansa. We have to live with the consequences to our actions. Bringing the Wildlings south of the wall killed me. Trying to convince Cersei of the Army of the Dead killed Dany's child. And telling Tyrion against your oath nearly killed Daenerys… killed our child."

"That was not my intention…"

"So why did you do it?!" he yelled. "How could you break your oath?!"

"You are the true King! A trueborn King!" she screamed back. "The Bastard of Winterfell, not a bastard at all. But Aegon Targaryen, the King of the Seven Kingdoms. That is you, Jon. My brother, but also a Targaryen."

"What does a name matter to me?" Jon waved the concept off. "I became Lord Commander as a Snow. I took Winterfell as a Snow. I was declared King in the North as a Snow. I…" It still hurt. "I won the heart of the greatest person I've ever known while I was nothing but Jon Snow. The Bastard of Winterfell. Why should I be anyone else?"

Sansa looked at him incredulously. "Because this is what you deserve! Imagine not being saddled with a bastard name! To hold the most august name in the history of Westeros, to finally have nothing stopping you or marring the great man you truly have become?!" _Why doesn't he see it?_ "After all the shit you've been through your whole life, you deserved to have the world see you for who you really are!"

Jon scoffed, shaking his head. "As what? A trueborn Targaryen or the trueborn Targaryen cousin of Sansa Stark?" An exasperated chuckle. "You are still so much like your mother, Sansa. Desiring me to no longer be a stain on your good name."

Staggering, it was to Sansa as if Jon had punched her in the stomach. "How could you say that?" She smacked him hard in the chest. "How could you fucking say that, Jon?!"

"What am I supposed to think?" Jon looked away. "Studying under Cersei and Littlefinger. Manipulating everyone with petty politics… it wasn't above them to pretend to care for me only to get what they want… and you played this perfectly, didn't you?" It hurt him to assault his sister like this - even when she hated him, he had always loved her. As he loved all his family. _I just have to know._ He swiveled around, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "Using the perfect tactic to force Daenerys and I apart. To get what you always wanted."

A tear fell down her cheek. "All I wanted, Jon, was my family back. To be safe and in control of myself, something taken away from me by Joffrey and Ra…" She couldn't say the name. Couldn't allow herself to feel that pain again.

"And 'Independence' was how far you were willing to go? Independence kept the north poor, kept it starving! Driven to poverty from the constant invasions we had to beat back. Invasions that made Robb's war in the Riverlands look like a tickle fight!"

"Until your birthright it was the only way!" Sansa was screaming. "The only way for us to be safe! For the pack to be safe! Cersei, Ramsay! The world was out to get us!"

"Daenerys and her dragons would keep us safe!" Jon knew he was close to getting the real feelings out of his sister. Feelings so long suppressed. "You said you trusted me, because she won my heart in spite of my horseshit and bastard armor! She came to my rescue north of the wall, losing one of her dragons - her children - all for me. All she wanted was a home and a family and would die to defend it, but you never allowed yourself to trust her!"

"She is not family, Jon!" _Jon, not Aegon._ He was getting to her. "You, me, Bran, and Arya. We're all we have for each other! Everyone else betrayed us! Everyone I thought would be family, more inclined to support us than the daughter of the man who killed our uncle and grandfather! Joffrey turned into a sadistic monster. Aunt Lysa almost threw me out the moon door. Petyr sold me to the Boltons. Theon burned Winterfell to the ground…"

"You forgave Theon," Jon said softly. "Daenerys didn't do anything to you, while Theon actually betrayed our family… the actual cause of Rickon dying. Of Winterfell falling to Ramsay - Roose Bolton would have thought twice about crossing Robb had the Ironborn not taken Winterfell. And yet you forgave him. Why?"

Eyes closing, Sansa seemed to strain to keep her composure. "I knew Theon… I didn't know Daenerys, only the stories… And Ramsay killed Rickon."

"Aye, he did. But we could have saved him. You wrote him off." Jon didn't blame Sansa, but the thought always remained. Why Sansa was so quick to dismiss any chance of Rickon living. "Had you told me of the Knights of the Vale, we could have saved him!"

"Ramsay would have found a way, Jon!" She began to tremble. "He knew everything! Played his little games on everyone! You didn't know him like I did… surprising him the way we did was the only way!"

Jon finally looked her in the eye. "I trusted you, but you didn't trust me. Not with Daenerys, even though I did know her better than you did." Her eyes widened. "Sansa, you claim to wish to atone for your mother's treatment… but this obsession with titles and blood…" He felt tears pricking his lids himself. Memories of his childhood returning. "In the end, it didn't matter as long as I had a loving family. Robb saw me as his brother, Arya saw me as her brother. Father saw me as his son. Daenerys… she never cared that I was a bastard. She loved me because I was worthy to be loved in her eyes. Seven hells, I think she thought herself the one out of her league, gods know why."

"I… I…" Sansa's voice caught in her throat, face paling. "I had no idea."

"The throne meant nothing to me. All I ever truly wanted - under all the walls and fears - was for a family to see me as the person I am. Love me as the person I am. My brother, sisters, and beloved. Daenerys was so scared of her supposed barrenness, but now she has to contend with this… shit." His eyes blazed fire. "All because you thought my title the most important. Just like Lady Stark."

Finally learning the truth, the dam broke. Their father, Robb, Catelyn, Rickon, Theon… everyone they lost, she had experienced the greatest agony but never allowed herself to truly grieve. And now, the one person that made her feel safe - even for a fleeting moment, in the courtyard of Castle Black - she had betrayed him. Hurt him in the worst way. She thought she was doing him the greatest of favors to atone for the two decades of vile slurs, but had only played into them. _And even now he still sees me as his sister… Gods, what have I become._ Sansa could only imagine Littlefinger, the same man that gave her to Ramsay Bolton, smirking at how his student had become the master. Tears were flowing freely, soft sobs breaking out. Years of strength battered down by Jon. Probably the only person who could.

Hearing her, watching her, Jon saw not Cersei or Littlefinger - but the scared little girl Sansa must have been. _I have my answer._

Wiping the tears staining her cheeks, eyes red and puffy, Sansa clasped his hand. "Please, Jon. I am your sister and I love you. I… I never meant to hurt you." Her soul was ripping itself apart, an indescribable pain taking her over.

Jon sighed - she was sincere. If there was anything the last month had taught him, it was to read sincerity. A lesson long overdue, but at his time of greatest need it had finally been accepted. Tears pricked at his eyes, the long-seated desire to have a loving family of his own finally within reach. Siblings that truly loved him, friends that stood with him through everything, an adoring beloved, and a child growing in her womb at that very moment. Such a perfect life… yet by the curse of the fates all denied to him by war and political backstabbing. A life he just wished to embrace with open arms. "Sansa…"

In the distance, a wolf howled - Jon tensing immediately. _Ghost._ He knew his direwolf companion anywhere… a fact he was counting on. Face hardening, he inconspicuously reached into a pouch on his belt.

"Sister, I cannot trust you. You betrayed my wife and my trust beyond repair - nothing but an oathbreaker. Littlefinger's minion. Cersei's pawn."

Her eyes widened in agony. "Jon, no!" It destroyed her, being hated by the one person who had truly saved her from Ramsay and the hells her life had become since leaving for King's Landing. Her protector that now despised her… and Sansa knew it was all her own doing. "Please, let me prove my trust to you."

Narrowing his eyes, Jon grabbed both of her hands, darting forward to plant a brotherly kiss on her forehead. "I know you desire the throne, sister." Releasing his grip on her hands to cup her cheeks. "Ya' broke my heart." Breaking the intimate connection. "You broke my heart, Sansa." Turning, Jon waited at his table till Sansa left. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, hoping that the act satisfied the prying eyes…

And that the object he left in Sansa's hand could solve two of his major problems. _I want to trust you, Sansa. I want the pack to survive._

_Don't become my enemy._ Jon didn't think he could ever turn on his family. It was just impossible for him.

* * *

Everything was crumbling. Simply everything.

Brown, woollen cloak wrapped around him, Lord Varys softly glided through the campsite. Taking advantage of the desertion and silence. He was a member of the small council, and thusly knew all the patrol schedules. His ruddy eyes were ever peeled, but occasionally he kept glancing up at the sky. Taking in the stars embedded in the heavens. Wondering how all of his plans threatened to crash on the shoals.

Varys' mind kept replaying the crackling fire, the rhythmic chants of the sorcerer casting his manhood into the brazier. The words the fire spoke to him. It was clear as the full moon above them. _"Westeros… Westeros…"_

A call that brought him to the august land, one that propelled the eunuch into the position of the highest power next to King Aerys Targaryen himself. And that had kept him through four other monarchs, all of whom depended on his services in a way that a fish needed water. Not a fighting man, Varys trafficked in secrets. Worth their weight in gold…

But secrets brought contact with the realm - those he used to obtain such secrets, they imprinted on him their plight and desires. In this lifetime, Varys had come to a conclusion. One that explained the words in the flames…

It was his duty to save the rulers of Westeros from themselves… and to save the realm from their rulers if need be. Decades of manipulation and animal cunning had led to Daenerys Targaryen - and to Aegon Targaryen, or Jon Snow. He fought for them, fought for their interests and their claims, only to be greeted with the very monsters he sought to guard against.

Creeping in the shadows, Varys kept returning to his repeated failure. Every chance he had at securing the proper King for the realm had failed. Each prospective ruler dying, being exposed as a fraud, or succumbing to the inner demons that Varys so hated. With Aegon a lost cause, he was forced to find a new solution. One that could tear the Kingdom apart - or lead to himself being torn apart - but it was a risk the Master of Whisperers was willing to take.

She was where his little bird said she should be - in the mood his little bird said she would be in. Returning from the King's quarters, where they had sat and discussed her loyalty long into the night. The child had not known what their conversation had been about beforehand, but the frostiness had clearly expanded, Sansa Stark forgiven but not allowed back into the inner circle of Aegon Targaryen. Favored yet not favored. Powerful yet not connected. A position he was glad to take advantage of.

Just about to enter her tent, Sansa caught a glimpse of the rounded figure approaching her. A hood pulled back to reveal Varys. "Lady Sansa, may we have a private word?" Steeling herself, Sansa nodded. Pushing open the tent flap to allow the Master of Whisperers to enter.

Closing the tent flap, Sansa kept her voice low. Better safe than sorry - especially with the Lady Brienne or Ser Podrick in their own quarters. "I have a feeling that I know what you desire, Lord Varys. And I believe we can come to a mutual arrangement." Her voice was cold and emotionless like the icy land of her birth, but behind it was a tinge of ambition. Of a lust for power and control.

Such people were not high on Varys' list, but with all better options either dead or impossible… at least such lust could be manipulated. "And what is it that you think I wish for?"

Sansa didn't hesitate. "Peace. Stability. A ruler that cares about the realm enough to remain benign and narrowly ambitious."

His eyebrow rose. "You have inherited your brain from your mother, not your father. While Ned Stark was a good man, he didn't play the game of thrones well enough. I am glad to see you as one who won't make his mistakes." _She could do nicely._ That is, if Varys was right about what she would ask of him. "And if you help me, what will you require?"

"I want to be Queen."

_Yes, exactly as I hoped_. Varys smiled, silently celebrating the beginning of a very beneficial relationship.

In his glee, he missed how the Lady Stark dropped a sliver of paper into the brazier.

* * *

"Get back!" Whip cracking in the air, the Goldcloak lieutenant unleashed it viciously at the crowd. An older man found himself knocked to the ground, skin of his shoulders torn open from the lashes. It didn't restrain the crowd. Desperate bodies quickly surged into the man's place, hands out with a visceral hunger. "Get back, damn you!"

Where the whip didn't work, the commands wouldn't. "We want our food!" screamed a younger man, nearly skin and bones.

A balding man in Lannister red-gold, obviously miserable, read off a ledger. "Go to your designated communal kitchen for the two daily meals at the marked time of day…"

"All the food there is rotten!" cried a woman, holding a screaming baby. "I can't feed my baby rotten food!"

"'Alf me family's already dead, mi'Lord," begged a common laborer. Dressed in trousers and the overalls of a smith, he was better off than the rest - the fact that even he was begging testified to the dismal state of the population of King's Landing. "Please! Queen Margaery made sure the food stores were full…"

The official looked like he sympathized with the crowd, but there was little he could do. "All the granaries are designated to sustain the war effort against the Targaryen scum…"

That seemed to arouse the fury of the crowd. "Horseshit!"

"Fuckin' Cersei fuckin' eats!"

"Drinks wine while fuckin' her brudder!"

"I saw 'er cunt! Only her brudder would fuck that pussy!"

"Brotherfucker!"

"Cockslut!"

"Lion Queen Cocksucker!"

One snarky teenager found his jaw cracking as a Goldcloak slammed his mailed fist into it. "Don't you dare speak of your Queen that way!" shouted the lieutenant. His chainmail armor fit him well - the City Watch of King's Landing was open to all recruits willing to fight for Queen Cersei of House Lannister, and they ate well. Drawing his sword, his entire command drawing their swords or levelling their spears.

While it had worked many times in the past, this time the Goldcloaks were greeted by only cackling jeers. "What ya' gonna do, cuntface?" the smith sneered. "Blow me up with wildfire? Queen's already done that, and to beloved Queen Margaery too!"

"Remember Queen Margaery!"

"Down with the Brotherfucker!"

"The Dragon Queen feeds her people!"

Mere mentioning of Daenerys' title stoked the anger of the Goldcloaks. "Who said that?! I'll find the man and gut him like a fish!"

An idle threat that fell on deaf ears. Defiant ears. "Hail the Dragon Queen!"

"Long may she reign!"

"Seven save the Dragon Queen and the Wolf King!"

All cries morphed into a show of support for Daenerys and Jon. "DRAGON QUEEN! WOLF KING! DRAGON QUEEN! WOLF KING!"

Two scrawny kids darted out of the crowd, tossing hunks of cow dung straight for the royal official and the commander of the Goldcloaks. Blow nearly causing him to topple over, the weasley bureaucrat simpered and disappeared into the back of the warehouse. The lieutenant meanwhile reddened to the color of a ripe tomato. Grabbing one kid by the scruff of his collar, one swing of the sword left the boy beheaded. Eyes wide and mouth agape as his head rolled upon the filthy cobblestone. "Anyone else!" he hissed, sword dripping blood.

"Oh, fuck," muttered the scarred man. Cuffing the shoulders of his two companions watching the scene from an inn far across the street. "This is gonna get ugly."

Out of the blue, the boy's distraught father leapt on the Goldcloak. Paving stone in hand as he brought it down again and again on the lieutenant's face. Leaving it a bloody pulp of brain and bone as a spear ran the man through. Further stones began to hurl at the other Goldcloaks guarding the food warehouse, crowd surging forward in an enraged mass. Already, crossbowmen began disgorging bolts at the lot, blood spilling onto the ground.

The scarred man had enough. "We're going, now!" His companions had no complaints to the course of action. Shoving aside screaming - and cheering - smallfolk, the scarred man burst through the wall of the inn, burly shoulders easily splitting open the cheap plywood that seperated the establishment from the filthy alleyway that provided a safe exit.

As if anywhere in King's Landing was safe anymore.

Whether it was minutes or hours that passed, neither of the three had any idea. Too many piss-stained corridors, dark alcoves that stank of shit, and abandoned houses they snuck into - many with the emaciated corpses of those that fell victim to the starvation gripping the city. The girl found her scarred companion gazing at each of these victims with a sense of… was it guilt? It perplexed her, but with each trample of dozens of booted feet signalling more Goldcloak reinforcements towards the rioting districts she was forced to put the thoughts out of her mind.

Finally, the immense bulk of the dragonpit came into view and with it, safety. A sandy alcove that likely once hosted the retinue of many a Targaryen dragonlord offered a quiet, undisturbed place to stay the night. No residents of the capitol came here much. It was considered cursed since the Dance of Dragons - Robert Baratheon was said to have visited it once to gloat, and in the next week his firstborn child with Cersei was stillborn. _His only child with Cersei._

"Fuck, that was close," Gendry breathed, checking the small hammer hooked on his belt. In the distance, the setting sun was marred with greasy black smoke, the sounds of screams and clashing steel filling the air.

"The city's on a damn knife's edge," hissed Arya, rubbing blisters on her feet. "Too many mouths, too little food, and one lioness cunt that won't jump into Blackwater Bay."

Sandor Clegane spat on the floor. "Now I know where that cunt Joffrey got it from."

"Daenerys and Jon are getting huge support, even with all the drivel Cersei's been feeding them instead of food." The gods only knew how many posters they had come across, printed leaflets of a monstrous demon on a dragon and an ice skeleton with a direwolf burning innocents alive. Many smallfolk in Flea Bottom used them as toilet paper. "Makes me heartened for the people."

"Fuck the people." He grabbed the wineskin from his pack. The odd jobs they worked at in the city always kept them supplied - the Hound was strong, Arya was quick, and Gendry was the hell of a smith. "Ya' should have gone to the fucking Stormlands, _Lord Baratheon_." The Hound laughed. "You a lord. Next thing ya' know, I'll be the fucking Imp."

"Fuck off, Sandor," Gendry shot back.

"He's right you know." Arya glared at the rightful Lord of Storm's End. "You should be claiming the Stormlands for yourself, not gallivanting around with me and this fucker." Sandor snorted and drank deeply. "Every time I think you're not stupid, you go and act like a fucking idiot."

Gendry smiled at her, one that made Arya go weak at the knees. Not that she'd ever show it… "Told you, Arry. Not gonna leave your side till you accept my proposal."

"I'm no lady," she repeated, though each time she did her resolve weakened.

The Baratheon bastard shook his head. "Never would want you to be anyone but yourself, just be my side while you do what you wish."

Arya punched him in the shoulder. "Shut up." His words were sweet, but she didn't want to think about it. Not now. "I hope the smoke doesn't reach here."

"Fuck King's Landing," muttered the Hound, still drinking.

Shrugging, Gendry took his own drink of wine. "Can't disagree."

Closing her eyes, Arya went back to the only world she knew. _Cersei, Qyburn, the Mountain, Euron Greyjoy… Cersei, Qyburn, the Mountain, Euron Greyjoy… Cersei..._

**A/N: I couldn't help the little Godfather Part II homage. It was just perfect to use, although I could imagine it better fits a scene with Viserys as Fredo and Jon/Dany as Michael.**

**Thanks to Dakkaman777 and Valaerys Targaryen for their help.**

**I want to explain some things about Sansa. I can understand fics that have her as a villain. D&D wrote her too ambiguously and probably butchered her as well, and I think this was on purpose to confuse everyone. Had they made her explicitly Cersei or Littlefinger 2.0, people would hate her. Anyway, I could see her going two ways that would have been consistent: 1) she stays loyal to Jon and is part of the loving family or 2) explicitly betrays Jon and Daenerys. For this story, I tilted the scales in favor of the former over a plausible alternate reason for Sansa to tell Tyrion. I hope everyone found it to satisfaction, cause it was very difficult to put together. **

**With Gendry, yet another character and ship I have to repair. Fuck you Dan and Dave.**

**Be sure to review! And check out my other stories Empire of Ice and Fire and Heart of the Blessed!**


	9. Ch 9: A Dragon's Plan

**A/N: Hey all! Shorter chapter now, but a lot coming up!**

**Found a new piece of cover art for the story, and I think it's rather awesome. Let me know what you think about it :D**

**Be sure to review, follow, and fav with your thoughts :D**

Chapter 9: A Dragon's Plan

"So he actually broke Lord Glover's nose?" Tyrion looked up at Davos, newly shaved face incredulous.

Davos laughed, still remembering the moment. "Aye, it was marvelous." The two walked through the Unsullied portion of the camp, which by design joined that of the Free Folk in surrounding His Grace's tent. _Both forces would literally die for the King._ The lad was growing smarter and shrewder by the day, filling Davos with an almost fatherly pride. "Wanted to punch that cunt since he refused to support Jon and Sansa ahead of the Battle of the Bastards, though it was fitting for the King to do it."

Tyrion chuckled. "Aye, just wish I had been there to see it."

"You had more important things to do, Lord Tyrion. Will Lord Rykker commit his troops to us?"

A shrug formed on the Imp's shoulders. "He wants to give his support to the Targaryens, but not unless we cross the Dusken River and put Duskendale behind the lines. Trying to have it both ways." Recently, the former Hand had finally gotten enough kicks in the ass from Missandei. He had shaved off his beard and went on a whirlwind tour of the Crownlands lords. All wished to jump ship from Cersei, but aside from House Velaryon and House Massey, they professed what was in effect neutrality. "All of them… they would support a siege of King's Landing but nothing further."

Both of the councilmen were close to the King's tent. "Well, looks we've got all the troops we're gonna have," Davos sighed. _"Valar Morghulis."_

"You actually found it?" Pulling open the tent-flap, the two intruded on Jon and Sansa mid-conversation.

"Aye, just where Bran told us it would be." Hushed tones obviously indicating that they didn't think they would be disturbed for the moment. The Lady of Winterfell looked up at the King, clad in functional northern leathers and his hair pulled back - but with the Targaryen sigil on his chest. "Are you sure you don't want…"

"It isn't mine to wield. I have my own…" Tyrion cleared his throat before Davos did, belatedly signalling their arrival. The two siblings… cousins?... siblings jumped apart. Her head down and Jon's eyes wide. "Greetings, Lord Tyrion. Lord Hand. A bit early?"

Tyrion shrugged, deciding not to mention the conversation - relations between the King and his sister had been frosty since she arrived and the rumors indicated an explosive blowout. The fact they were conversing intimately… he wasn't going to judge. Not anymore, not after his failures. "We had nothing better to do, and the wine here is one step above horse piss anyway."

Davos chuckled. "I told you to try ale."

"That's watered down horse piss." Smiles upticked for all four of them, enjoying the japing.

The announced arrival of the other Lords and Council Members cut the enjoyment short. Watching them all file in, Jon truthfully only truly appreciated Missandei, Grey Worm, Lyanna Mormont, and Edric Dayne. The others were either bores like Edmure Tully, power climbers like Baelor Hightower, worms like Robett Glover, or… Lord Varys. His Master of Whisperers offered a wide smile, appreciative twinkle in his eyes. Jon trusted him even less.

"Alright, shall we begin?" Davos asked. As Hand of the King, he was entitled to speak - and he, Jon, and Tyrion had determined for the newly arrived Stormlords and the two thousand men they brought it would be best for him to take the lead here. "Harry Strickland is on the move, slowly but moving. He'll be at the Dusken by tomorrow."

Jon pursed his lips, scowling as each combat commander arranged their forces accordingly on the map. Grey Worm for the Unsullied, Rokharo for the Dothraki, Tormund for the Free Folk, Yohn Royce for the Vale, Larence Hornwood for the north, Edmure Tully for the Riverlands, Edric Dayne for the Dornish, Baelor Hightower for the Reach, and Arstan Selmy for the Stormlanders. "How many do we have?"

"Not enough," mumbled Larence Hornwood, a legitimized bastard and the leader of Jon's cavalry arm at the Battle of the Bastards - he had distinguished himself since to take full command of a third of the Targaryen Army. "Thirty-five thousand infantry, seven thousand cavalry. Strickland outnumbers us by around six thousand according to Lord Reed's scouts."

"There is no way the Golden Company is that large," scoffed Edric Dayne. "Cersei lost about a third of her men at the Goldroad, so that leaves twenty thousand of the Golden Company and twelve thousand Westermen of various houses."

Speculation ran rampant over where the remaining ten thousand came from. "Lords of the Crownlands reneging?" accused Manfred Trant, glaring at Aurane Waters, the bastard uncle of the underage Lord Velaryon.

"That is slander, Lord Trant," hissed the only Crownlands lord present.

A hand slammed on the table. "Enough!" Jon thundered, quieting all down. "Let's ask the scout himself."

Howland Reed cleared his throat. "My men spotted - in addition to the elephants of the Golden Company - further sellsword banners. Cersei must have hired all the sellswords in the Free Cities to face us, mostly cavalry."

Growls and snide remarks filled the tent. "A Queen of Westeros using a majority foreign sellsword army to maintain power," hissed Baelor Hightower. "Disgraceful."

"All Cersei has left are an iron will to win and gold," Tyrion mused. "Sellswords… fit that bill."

"Our Queen's men followed her because of her, not of money," Lord Royce stated, thumping his chest and gaining nods and murmurs of assent from around the table.

Sparing a glance at Missandei, Jon nodded as she gave him a small smile. Unity around him and Daenerys was finally being achieved. "The size disparity is large, but not insurmountable. We must cross the river and destroy them." No one could say their King lacked the boldness of Aegon the Conqueror or Daemon Blackfyre.

"The river is too wide to cross anywhere else close by but the bridge here," pointed out Lord Dayne. "We're going to have to force our way across and battle with Strickland… which guarantees our defeat unless his Grace uses his dragon."

Jon shook his head, keeping the figurine representing Rhaegal pulled back. "Considering what happened at Dragonstone, I do not wish to risk him going into a fully defended heavy nest. Our dragons are powerful but they are also priceless." It was all in his hands, that was for certain. While many of these men were brave warriors and strong commanders, they lacked edge. They lacked vision, the spark that distinguished an ordinary commander from a great one. Rhaegar Targaryen had been different, Robb Stark had been different - and now Aegon VI Targaryen would be different. Eyes drifting along lines and squiggles on the map, the pieces suddenly clicked in Jon's head.

"There." Eyes rapidly followed the King's outstretched hand, disclosing a small riverine island bisecting the Dusken over thirty miles from the battlefield. "Lord Aurane, tell me about this island."

Being the only person of the Crownlands here, Aurane Waters expected to be leaned on for geographic counsel. "Handmarsh Isle, your Grace. It's covered in trees and has thigh-deep marshes on the southern fork, while the northern fork is only slightly narrower than the rest of the river. Many locals believe it's a sacred relic of the Old Gods, so they don't disturb it."

_The Old Gods wouldn't mind the Lightbringer intruding on them, I suppose._ Jon allowed himself a rather crafty smile - the Targaryen in him. Each man and woman in the tent silent and awaiting what their King would say. "Alright, here's what we're going to do…"

* * *

"Another banner…" breathed Addam Marbrand. "This one of House Hunter."

"All the Vale houses are by the bridge then," Harry Strickland responded. "Good, we're facing their army."

Lyle Crakehall frowned. The Lords and Captains of the Golden Company were atop a bluff overlooking the floodplain of the Dusken. Sunlight shined brightly off their own men close ahead, not to mention the vast cluster of forces to the north of the river. "I don't see the Dothraki, or the Unsullied, or the Northerners for that matter?"

"Pfft," scoffed Black Balaq, the commander of the archers. "Westerosi never go to battle without heavy knights," he boomed in his Summer Islands accent. "They naked without men in suits of iron."

"Besides, those slave soldiers and horselords were probably cripplied up north fighting whatever the damn Stark Bastard was going on about. I'm not worried."

"Said bastard hasn't been spotted," warned Leo Lefford.

"I spotted Sansa Stark," Strickland replied back. "He wouldn't be anywhere without his sister. She's the brains of the outfit, according to the Queen."

If the optimism of the Golden Company irked the Westermen, the arrogance of the other sellswords infuriated them. "Royce's men have made frequent feints for the past morning every few hours," barked the 'Tattered Prince,' commander of the Windblown company. "They're obviously testing out our weaknesses, probing for a spot near the bridge to ferry across."

"And our scouts haven't found any sign of other forces for miles around us." Strickland slapped his thigh. "Trust me, that bastard is too stupid to give a fight other than right here."

Dozens of miles away, the scene was far different. The waters surrounding Handmarsh Isle were a flurry of activity. Horses neighed and whined as the Dothraki and Dornish led them into the river to swim across. Riders hanging onto woven sheepskins filled with hay to float them across the flowing current, soaked with the chilly waters but driven ever forward by their own discipline and determination. With the promise of a victorious battle to be sung to generations yet to be born for centuries.

On the riverbank, Larence Hornwood kept tight ranks among his northerners and the Free Folk. Lords, clan chiefs, and knights mingling with the men, keeping them in line and preventing many a brawl from breaking out among the excitable and boisterous warriors. Each waited their turn for a position on the coming boats. Everything was being used, from small rowboats to freight ferries pulled upstream from Duskendale - House Rykker eager to render his assistance in any way that did not involve providing troops. Targaryen commanders using the long, slender breadth of Handmarsh to disguise their movements from onlookers.

Not that Howland Reed or his Crannogmen scouts let any onlookers within a mile of the place.

Each hour brought thousands of bannermen to the riverine island. Forces disappearing into the cover of the trees as soon as disgorged upon the muddy bank. Reformed under the auspices of Davos Seaworth, Hand of the King. The Stormlanders were already close to formation, Brienne of Tarth at the head among her countrymen once more. Generously given the honor to lead the men of Tarth into battle by Sansa Stark, it would be only moments before she issued the order to wade through the marshes onto the south bank.

The Unsullied held the van, having been ferried to Handmarsh during the night. Only at half strength from when they marched to Winterfell, the lines of leather armor and forests of spears still proved a fearsome sight. Commander Grey Worm still walked along the bank, exhorting those forces still waist deep in the murky water of the marsh to pick up the pace. If by some disaster the cavalry of the Golden Company were to arrive, the nest of Unsullied would be the only thing stopping them from annihilating the Targaryen Army before it even formed up for battle.

And lastly was the solitary figure on his horse. The King himself, Aegon, Sixth of his Name. Faithful direwolf resting in the shade by his side. Clad in the armor plate of House Targaryen, gorget emblazoned with the direwolves of his mother's house, he watched silently as the army moved. Gauging their confidence in the cool breeze of a southern winter. In the distance, he could feel the presence of his faithful dragon - soaring high in the clouds.

_Stay strong, father,_ Rhaegal seemed to tell him, their bond strong and unwavering. _Remember, you are a dragon._

_Be a dragon._

_I love you._

It wasn't the first time that day - seven hells, that minute - that Jon didn't think of Daenerys. Didn't think of their babe growing inside of her. The family he now had, that he would bring fire and blood atop the winds of winter to anyone that would harm them. Anger surged inside of him, a burning dragonfire. The Golden Company stood in his way, blocking him from his beloved, and they would be destroyed if he had anything to say about it.

_Let the dice fly high._

* * *

"Would you like to hear another, my darlings?" The babes nestled within her womb were too young to move. To give the flutter of life that heralded the halfpoint till their birth. But the Dragon Queen could tell, just as she had with their scaled brothers, that they were strong. Blood of the dragon and the wolf, just like their father… _My Jon._

Aside from the terror of the interrogations, though Cersei hadn't come down here in days, silence predominated. Hours upon hours, days upon days of solitude broken only by meal deliveries. It gave Daenerys a lot of time to think. To plan and scheme on how she would rule upon Cersei's defeat. Upon how she would greet her beloved when they were finally reunited. And to speak to her little dragons. To tell them stories of their house, of the great dragonlords of old - but Daenerys could tell, they most desired stories of Jon. Of her true sun and stars and his adventures, the same ones he would tell her in bed onboard ship.

Smiling, thinking of those wonderful memories that brought her the gift of their babes, Dany spoke in her soft lilt. "Many years ago, there was a young dragon. He was raised in the north, among the wolves that were his loving kin. All his life, he wished to be someone to bring peace to the realm of men. The dragon decided to join the Night's Watch, a brotherhood of warriors dedicated to guarding all living beings of Westeros." A tear fell down her cheeks, imagining Jon north of the Wall. Alone, with no one to hold him or kiss him or love him. _A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing._

They had been alone at the same time. Struggling to live at the same time, and yet something - be it fate or gods - brought them together. _When I am in his arms again, I will never let him go. I will tell him yes._ This Daenerys swore upon all deities she knew.

"The Wall in the north, the largest structure ever built by man, it was a freezing cold. A cold so great it seeped through your very clothes. But still the dragon endured. Fighting monsters never before seen. Waging a great battle with the wildlings. The dragon was so skilled, so adept in the art of war, that he defeated even a great Magnar of the Thenns in single combat." Daenerys rubbed her belly, hoping for a son that looked just like Jon. Who could fight like the Targaryen King he would be. Hoping for a daughter strong and intelligent, adept at ruling but not hesitant to put on breeches and fight her brother.

_Oh my little dragons, I love you so._

"Every day the dragon despaired. Every day he wept at his loneliness, but soldiered on. Bringing the Free Folk south of the wall to safety. Defeating the evil monsters that had burned his childhood home. Fighting and fighting until…" Her voice caught. "Until he heard and answered the call of the only other living dragon." A proud Queen, one that had brought fire and blood but also freedom and dignity, it felt empty unless her fearsome dragon was by her side. "Because you see, my darlings. Dragons deserve to be together. Only a dragon can truly understand another dragon. Such it was with your father and I…" She sobbed softly. "There is no greater man upon this earth than he, and I know he loves you so."

A gentle, serene silence fell upon the cell for several moments before the door swung open. Crashing against the wall behind it. Daenerys instinctively pushed herself against the wall. Shielding her babes from whatever vileness Cersei or the Mountain had planned for her, much as she had tried to protect herself from Viserys' rage and frustration - but here she wasn't a scared girl, but the rightful Queen. Strong and dignified, even in the blackest of the black cells.

But it wasn't the vileness of Cersei or the Mountain, or the welcome sight of Jaime Lannister - or the less welcome sight of Qyburn - but rather a… new figure. Not imposing outwardly, but with a sublime arrogance of a seasoned warrior. Bronzed hair wild and beard rugged in spite of his silk cloak and well-stitched doublet. _Many a warrior earned their wealth in the chaos of the War of the Five Kings._ "Well fuck me blind, I had to see it for mi'self."

Daenerys said not a word, looking this man over. He didn't seem familiar, but must have been someone Cersei trusted to be able to be both down here and wear such fine clothes.

Sensing her searching gaze, the man gave an exaggerated bow. "Allow me to introduce mi'self. Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, Hero of the Battle of Blackwater Bay. Beloved by maidens and the bane of brothel owners all over Westeros."

Suddenly she remembered him - the man who had wounded Drogon with a scorpion at the Battle of the Goldroad. Her blood boiled. "If you came to willingly bed me… I would sooner snap your neck."

Bronn laughed. "Normally I like feisty girls, but the ladies at Chataya's are enough for me at the moment." He smirked at her, one quite off putting - comically so, as if he were in a mummer's show. "I just wanted to see the dragon caged. Instead of flying free, weighed down by chains. Must have been a fun sight, seeing Euron bringing you to the Queen in chains."

Dany wanted to feed this man to Drogon. Her son finally getting revenge for his wound in battle. "Go away, sellsword. You won't get anything out of me."

Smirk still on his face, Bronn began to reach underneath his cloak."Only fitting, isn't it? The daughter of the Mad King finally gettin' what her father deserved for his treachery and barbarism." Out of his cloak, the sellsword turned soon-to-be Lord dumped a bundle on the cot. "May the Seven continue to bend the arc of justice or whatever the fuck a bloody septon would say." He motioned to the bundle.

Cocking an eyebrow, Dany nevertheless looked at what Bronn of the Blackwater had given her. A cloak… and riding breeches. "I don't understa…"

_"Don't talk."_ She blinked at his harsh whisper, especially as he continued with his normal taunting. "Tell me, dragon whore. How does it feel to be the one in a cage awaiting death?"

"I…." Everything about this was confusing. "What are these clothes…"

He pleaded with his eyes. _"Shut the fuck up!"_ Bronn stepped forward. "Speaking in riddles, eh? I'm not going to fall for your charms." He grasped her by her shoulders, leaning into her ear. _"I'll be back. Put the clothes on, cause we're leaving."_ Snarling, he shoved her back. "I won't fall for your fucking witchcraft. Begone." With his cloak unfurling, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater was gone. Door slamming shut behind him.

Processing what happened, Daenerys sat down. Fingering the clothes - simple, homespun wool, that of a poorer merchant but one still of means. Probably one that would be spotted in the countryside.

A smile spread over her face. "My little dragons." Daenerys rubbed her stomach, full with her children. "We're going to see your father soon." _I'm coming, Jon._

* * *

The fire crackled in the hearth, spreading the life-giving warmth into the solar. But it was not enough for Cersei Lannister. Long gone were her days at Casterly Rock. The constant winds hammering the cliffs did not rise to a northern winter's freeze but were quite chilling. However, years of comfort among the heat of Blackwater Rush led the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms to be unaccustomed to the cold.

So there she was, shivering. Bones and muscles aching from the cold.

Only anger granting her any relief from her pain. "Where are my armies, Qyburn?!" Her roar shook the table she sat by. "The message went out over a week ago! Hayford is only a day's ride away, so Strickland has no excuses!"

"The Golden Company is as loyal as the gold we paid them, your Grace," replied the Hand, artfully concealing his inward smile. "Strickland might wish for a greater share of the spoils by attacking immediately." A thought came to mind. "Although, my little birds have been singing songs of discontent among your father's bannermen. How Lyle Crakehall is spreading discontent among the ranks, with one song singing about contact between him and the Spider. Lord Varys. I can't be sure, though."

Fists clenching, Cersei wished she had someone to kill. _Seven Hells, there's always someone to kill._ "Ser Arys!"

Arys Oakheart stepped from his position guarding the Queen. "Yes, your Grace?"

"Notify Ser Ilyn. Tell him to execute the captured prisoners from the thuggery last week."

"The ringleaders of that disturbance have already been executed, your Grace." Killing starving citizens that just wanted more food from the storerooms was disturbing to Qyburn, who had seen such actions by the same being who he had experimented with, now standing behind Cersei. He glanced at the Queen's table, littered with uneaten bread and sweets.

_Ring! Ring! Ring!_

The Queen tensed. Fear spiking through her. Pain stabbing through her. The bells of King's Landing, heralding sunset. Bells that heralded her wedding to Robert, each of her dead children. Bells that rang as she made her way nude from the Sept of Baelor to the Red Keep, citizens screaming and showering her with abuse and refuse. Bells that heralded every single painful moment of her life, stoking her with rage. Cersei stood, wildfire roaring in her vibrant green eyes. "No, not just the ringleaders. All of them!"

"All of them?" Over two thousand had been detained by the Goldcloaks, held in pens normally used for livestock. "We have done public executions before, but none of this magnitude…"

"Kill them all! They spoke in favor of the Dragon Bitch in the dungeons! Go, Ser Arys. Do it!" The Kingsguard bowed, leaving. Cersei still ranting. "They think they can foist the Dragonspawn on me! The sister of the cunt that rejected me. ME! For fucking Lyanna Stark! BOTH MEN I LOVED! They will all die!" Her face contorted into a demonic snarl, lost in her rage. "I will burn them all! I will burn… Ahhhh…!" A sudden pain spasmed out of her abdomen. Cersei clutching it in both hands, nearly falling over. _The babe..._

Racing to her side, Qyburn wrapped his arms around her, easing Cersei to a chair. "Fetch more Maesters and every midwife you can find!" he ordered a trembling servant girl. "The Queen is going into labor!" The girl ran off as fast as she could.

Cersei felt her heart thumping in her chest - for some reason, it stood out to her senses more than the stabbing pain from her abdomen. Quite surreal. "Qyburn… the prince… he must live…" Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"Do not worry, your Grace," Qyburn said, giving her his skeletal smile. "I will take care of the young Lannister." He motioned for Ser Gregor. "Quick, she must be taken to bed!"

"Fuck… anyone…" Her world was spinning, pain beginning to overwhelm her. "Anyone who… isn't us… Jaime… where is… Jaime…" Such were her last words before she passed into unconsciousness.

**A/N: So Cersei is going into labor, Jon is putting his plan together, and Dany may be getting help from an unexpected source. Plenty of fun to come :D**

**As you can tell, battle next chapter. I'm basing it off a rather famous one with very distinctive pre-battle movements. Any guesses?**

**Be sure to review! And check out my other stories Empire of Ice and Fire and Heart of the Blessed!**


	10. Ch 10: A Dragon's Fury

**A/N: Hey all! Was gonna update tomorrow, but I finished early :D **

**The Battle of the Dusken River is here. I based it off Alexander the Great in the Battle of the Hydapses, although Alexander never got to ride into battle atop a dragon ;)**

**Leave a comment! **

Chapter 10: A Dragon's Fury

"I told you! I fucking told you!" Lyle Crakehall was pissed. Worse than pissed - the noble Lord of Crakehall on the verge of killing someone he was so enraged. "But no, you had to underestimate the Stark bastard."

"This changes nothing," Harry Strickland commented, irritated at the damn westerman being proven right. The commanders watched through their field glasses at the black, grey, khaki, and gold-clad Targaryen forces assemble two miles from their camp. Twenty-thousand strong and itching for a fight. "We still outnumber them, and can beat back any attack over the river if they try to flank us."

Addam Marbrand darted forward. "Ser," he told _Lyle_, deliberately ignoring the Lord Commander of the Royalist ground forces. "Allow me to lead our bannermen to victory."

He was waved off by Strickland. "No, other than the Unsullied their heaviest forces are still across the river waiting for us. Your landsknechts will need to hold the southern bank." He turned to Tristane Rivers, the commander of the Golden Company foot. "You will lead the legions into battle, with the knights on the flank. The Windblown and other sellswords will be in reserve." The sellsword Captains whooped in the air, while the Westermen watched with burning eyes.

Army clearly divided upon the dawn of battle.

The Targaryen Army halted, one long line along the floodplain. Eyes narrowed in the heat of the sun and staring intently at their raven-haired King, inspecting the lines. Peering at them with the violet-ringed grey of his eyes. Horse trotting back and forth, snorting clouds of hot breath into the chilly morning air, Jon felt restless. Only the presence of Ghost calming him. Unlike even a Stark, the steed was not the natural mount of a Targaryen King, and he chafed on the saddle as a result.

_"You've ruined horses for me."_

He snickered, almost envisioning Daenerys' smirk after their dragonride to the waterfall outside Winterfell - his heart thumping out of his chest as the wind whipped through his hair, heart thumping again within the warm steam of the cave while he and his beloved made love for hours. Dany… It had been their last happy moment… before everything happened.

He looked back at the shimmering gold of the sellswords, lining up for battle. Rage burning deep in his core. _I will bring fire and blood to the whole world to hold you in my arms again._

"Men of the Realm!" he suddenly yelled. Voice carrying across the Targaryen line. "I am Aegon Targaryen, born Jon Snow of the North. The mix of the First Men and Old Valyria, and today I serve as the bridge between the farthest corners of the known world.

"From Astapor to Bear Island! From Hardhome to Sunspear, we are gathered to build a new world. To tear down the shit one we've all grown up in. Under the banner of the dragon, we will build this new world!"

"We are with you, Dragonwolf!" Lord Cley Cerwyn shouted, a far cry from the skeptical young man that had arrived at the summit of lords long before.

Drawing Longclaw, he leveled it at the Golden Company. "Those men, ready to kill you all, they are not of this realm. Men that fight for gold, for profit! Men willing to sell their souls and their dignity to stand behind Cersei Lannister, the Mad Queen. The heir to Aerys Targaryen's legacy!" He reared his horseback on its hind legs, as regal a sight if any. "I, the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, husband of Queen Daenerys Targaryen, will fight alongside you this day - and together, we will win!"

The army erupted in cheers. "DRAGONWOLF! DRAGONWOLF! DRAGONWOLF!"

Smiling at his men, Jon trotted back into the lines, wildlings and northerners shouting and smacking his horse on the side. Whipped up into a frenzy. So juiced up that they didn't seem to notice how Jon was galloping towards the rear.

"Sire!" Jon turned his horse, Ghost circling around in a protective screen. Watching Larence Hornwood with piercing eyes that shone an almost violet. "Do I have permission to attack?"

The King's gaze shifted, following the snorting mounts and laughing Dothraki screamers. Arakh's twirling and slapping each other's backs - eager to finally face a human enemy. Especially one as rich as the Golden Company. Shifting again to a black blur staining the lower sky, just above the treeline. Jon smiled. "Send in the cavalry first. Force them to focus on the center." Cracking the reins, he spurred the horse into a gallop, Ghost bounding alongside as the King disappeared into the rear.

* * *

A chorus of horns heralded the commencement of the battle. Booming from the glistening horns of the Golden Company to the horsehide horns of the northerners and the Dothraki. What little cloud cover that had drifted over the flood plains had dissipated, leaving nothing but the vibrant blue and glowing rays of the sun. Each army tight in their formations. Watching. Waiting. Some impatient and yet some praying for further delay, but all with a realization that by the end of the day the Dusken River would run red with blood. That the fate of the Seven Kingdoms would no longer be in the balance.

"Good luck, my friend," Marden Tanner said, clasping the Unsullied commander by the arm.

Grey Worm nodded, glancing over at the lines of gold-plated infantrymen lined up before them. "We will see each other again behind a pile of corpses."

Tanner bellowed a laugh. "That's the spirit!" One last slap on the back and the northerner withdrew back to his command of the Stark Household guard, Grey Worm doing the same for the Unsullied phalanx.

Golden armor glistening, Harry Strickland rode ahead of the center of his force - the famed Blackfyre spearmen, soldiers that had nearly brought House Targaryen to kneel long before. Clipped to his side was the famed Valyrian Steel sword Blackfyre, rubies bringing attention to the intricate dragon heads carved into the hilt. Only fitting, he finish Aegor Rivers' dream by wiping out the weak dragons off the face of the earth. With a flourish of his cloak, he leveled Blackfyre at the enemy. "Advance!"

Shock troops all, Captain Tristane Rivers led the center of the Royalist line surged forward. Tactics patented against Dothraki raiders and the disorganized slave armies of the east, the fast moving peltasts clad in bronze armor shined by camp slaves till it was almost a mirror, shields of a plated reddish bronze and sporting a javelin and bastard sword. The ragged line broke into a quick step, urged on by mounted officers straight for the Targaryen infantry facing them.

"Nock!" Archers on both sides notched their arrows. "Loose!" Thousands of shafts sailed into the air, clouds thick enough in places to blot out the sun before plunging down at their foes.

Cries rang out all across the battlefield. Thwacks and smacks of the steel-tipped bows hitting shields and armor, joined by the wet slaps of flesh being pierced. Running sellswords tumbled with spurts of blood, while the stationary Targaryens pitched back, crumpling into heaps that men from the rear would quickly patch up. The eleven hundred northern and dornish longbowmen were unified together with the range to assault deep into the Golden Company lines, while Black Balaq's light sinew bowmen could only reach the front of the Targaryen forces - where Lord Hornwood placing his heaviest forces. Crossbowmen making up nearly a third of his thousand bowmen, Balaq's men were greatly outnumbered. Outmatched by the Targaryens commanded by Ser Davos Seaworth himself. "Nock!"

The first clash of the day began close to the river. "Charge!" Larence Hornwood and Edric Dayne leading the northmen and Dornish personally, the lightly armored lances thundered out from the right flank of the Targaryen host. Crashing into their outnumbered sellsword counterparts on the left wing under a flurry of arrows from the Dothraki horse archers. Screams of men and horses filled the air as the five hundred knights of the Golden Company started to find themselves overwhelmed, core of northern veterans supplemented by the curved sabers and rapidly moving Dornish. Lance broken on the armor of a knight, Hornwood drew his blade and kept the charge while Edric Dayne slashed through nearly a dozen enemies with his twin swords.

Led by the cataphracts of the Windblown, the rest of the sellsword cavalry companies abandoned the right flank of the Westermen - leaving a pronounced gap in the royalist formation - galloping to the aid of their hard pressed kinsmen and paymasters. Five thousand strong, such a force would have overwhelmed the northerners and Dornish with a core of fifteen hundred armored cataphracts and screened by further thousands of light horse, but providence was on the side of the dragon.

An undulating chant warbling through the air, hooves thundering upon the ground with the fury of the Doom of Valyria, the Dothraki promptly followed their Westerosi allies onto the field. War paint streaking their faces and twirling their blades thirsty for blood, they wheeled north, traversing muddy banks that would have swallowed the heavy knights whole - crashing into the sellswords from the rear. Hornblowers attempted to bark out reformation orders, commanders desperately trying to convert to defense, but the bloodlust of the Dothraki and the sharpness of their blades cutting through man and horse alike killed whatever strategy was left.

Curdling shouts and shrieking neighs filled the din, many a Dothraki leaping from the backs of their horses to knock a cataphract or knight off their steed. Horse archers never letting up their rapid fire. Crimson soaking the dusty ground as the maneuvers of the cavalry descended into a slaughterhouse.

Unlike the men of the north, of Dorne, or of Essos, the barked commands of local captains was not the way of the Golden Company. Centralized control of the notoriously greedy warriors was a must, the task falling to the half-dozen hornblowers stationed around the dappled grey stallion of Tristane Rivers. "Men, signal javelins!" Instruments to their lips, the heralders warbled out the command across the breadth of the fifteen thousand men. The line shuddered to a halt, peltasts drawing their hands back and letting the narrow wood and steel shafts to fly. Furious arrowshot from the Targaryens brought down hundreds in the moment of weakness, but Strickland and Rivers found the tactics worth it.

And worth the countless corpses it was. The javelins had the punch that the arrows lacked, crashing through shields and armor with their heavier weight. Force multiplied as they ripped into the Targaryen formations. Elite Unsullied, armored northerners, proud Stormlanders, and mobile Dornishmen, their forward lines were decimated by the scything javelineers. Grey Worm found himself splattered with the blood of his comrades, both adjacent to him falling into boneless heaps, when the hornblows of the enemy resounded to him. Golden Company charging in a single wave at them. _"Sumby dōros!"_ Still disciplined, shields crashed together with a nest of spears projecting outward just as the peltasts hit.

Blood spilled from the first meeting of steel. The golden armored sellswords crashing into the spears, longswords, and scimitars of the Targaryen forces. Northerners holding firm, stabbing forward with their spears and swordsmen hacking in the degenerate melee that soon developed. Dornish crossbowmen joined with Davos' archers to stabilize the northern sector of the fight, while the sheer breadth of the Unsullied phalanx proved a tough target. One that Tristane Rivers targeted with a fury, keen on destroying the best Targaryen troops. Vectoring in his men-at-arms of Westerosi exiles. Spearpoints glancing off their steel armor and swords hacking through the boiled leathers of the hoplites.

The Unsullied gave ground, slowly and steadily, drawing the ire of the Golden Company infantry. Flanks descending into a morass as they directed their efforts to breaking the elite former slave soldiers.

In here, Tristane Rivers made a grave miscalculation. Committing his entire force in a single surge, the men grew tired after the first burst of heavy fighting. Adrenaline pumping, sending the sellswords into a frenzy of strength and bloodlust. Tasting the golden spoils that awaited them upon presenting Cersei Lannister the heads of her enemies. But the steadfastness of the Targaryen line, equal ferocity from the Westerosi and indefatigable Unsullied, many began to fall back a short distance to recuperate. Others taking their place, and again and again until the massive physical and mental stress intensified. Up to the point of exhaustion. Committed all at once, the fifteen thousand peltasts suffered greatly as their will to fight began to sap away.

Grey Worm, Cley Cerwyn, and Arstan Selmy did not fall victim to this, keeping two reserve lines of men knelt to discourage premature commitment. As the forward line began to falter back dozens of paces at the pressure of the enemy, commands sent the second line forward. Fresh troops adding their furor against the tiring sellswords.

Across over a mile, at the riverbank itself, volley after volley of arrows launched themselves at the other. Heavily armored Reachmen and Rivermen surging across the great bridge spanning the Dusken. Knights of the Vale fording the rocky riverbed, assailed by the men-at-arms of the Westerlands. Both sides fighting fiercely, the swords of Edmure Tully, Lyle Crakehall, Bronze Yohn Royce, Addam Marbrand and a dozen other lords tasting blood while many an armor plate was punched through by arrow and crossbow… but the sluggish assaults and general snails pace of the battle belied the riverbank as the sideshow.

The battle would be decided on the plains to the southeast.

Javelin slamming into the ground just inches from him, Grey Worm batted aside a sword and stabbed ahead. Impaling the peltast through the gut. Steel spearpoint punching through the light bronze chestplate. _"Memēbagon!"_ He shouted above the clashing blades. _"Lanta dekuragon!"_ Shield wall reforming with a booming crash, the Unsullied took two steps forward in a single unit - stabbing ahead with their spears in a copy of northern pike tactics. Spilling yet more blood as hundreds fell to the juggernaut.

Horns filled the air, joined by a groaning trumpet that drew Grey Worm's eyes - and the eyes of all the Targaryen forces upon the field - towards the west. A curse muttered underneath the stifling leather helmet at the sight.

Their trunks blaring a shrill warcry across the battlefield, there stood eighty-five war elephants. All thundering straight for the Targaryen lines.

_"Iōragon kostōba!"_

* * *

Except for a few well-traveled lords and the Free Folk - who had experience with mammoths - the sight of the war elephants were a stab of shock and awe. Towering over man and steed, they advanced at a slow trot. Tusks a gleaming white, ears wide and feet crashing in a thunderous rumble upon the ground. Trumpeting at will, groans leaving their mouths as they advanced. Draped in gold silk, bronzed tusks, and an island strapped to their back carrying four heavily-armed mahouts. One spearmen, two bowmen, and a crossbow-wielding commander. Peltasts simply parting like water around a boat as the elephants drew closer and closer. Fifteen breaking off to engage the knights and Dothraki while the remaining seventy took upon the infantry.

They reached the Dornish first, and then hit the rest in a staggered charnelhouse of blood and gore. Men screaming blood curdling cries as they were thrown into the air, trampled by great feet. Mahouts stabbing and loosing arrows, massive platforms rendering themselves immune from counter. The powerful beasts kept the charge, for nothing could stop their initial advance, ripping through the Targaryen foot, impaling many men with their steel clad tusks and heaving some of them into the air before pulverizing them.

Trained by the Free Folk in how to handle a charge of the beasts, by some miracle the line held together in the initial onslaught. Unsullied concaved in, letting the beasts hurl themselves forward before enclosing them, bristles of spears darting out to stab at them. The Dornish and Northerners fell back, archers firing deadly fusillades at the elephants and mahouts. Dothraki maneuvering around the lumbering giants and slashing at the leathery hide of their legs with arakhs.

The great charge started to stumble, but a rejuvenated Golden Company added their swords and lances to the fray. Stabbing and slashing. Hacking and thrusting. Given the extra breathing room by their secret weapon, the Targaryen line started to buckle. Rippling towards a general collapse and slaughter...

_"BRRRRRREEEEEEEAAAAAAAWWWWWW!"_

There was no mistaking the roar that echoed across the flood plain. For those that knew it personally, nor even for those that had no experience with the sound. It was one of those distinctive noises, and soon eyes confirmed the ears. Shooting over the plain, giant wings propelling him forward in a ear-shattering glide, was the great Rhaegal. Green scales dark against the muted winter's sun, maw open in another piercing roar. Perched on his back was the Targaryen King himself. Black hair and red cloak billowing around him, rage and furor burning in his eyes.

All fighting stilled for the slightest moment, both forces just paralyzed with fear or awe at what was going to come next from the sight of a lifetime.

Honing in on the elephants, Jon gave the same command as his beloved had done upon the Goldroad. _"Dracarys!"_

Whatever moisture hung in the noonday sky evaporated in an instant, air around Rhaegal's maw shimmering with heat before the dragonfire erupted. Bathing an elephant and over seventy men in the cloud of red-orange smoke and flame. Leaving nothing in his wake but screams and ashes. Harry Strickland, jaw trembling in a sort of respectful terror, calmed his panicking mount. Head turning to the men around him. "Get it out!"

Rhaegal thudded onto the ground, mud and dust fountianing into the air. Men crushed under his wings and talons. Hundreds others and several elephants scattering in all directions. Jon snarling atop him in rage, the green dragon clamped his jaws down on one of the rumbling beasts. Sinking his teeth deep into the leathery hide. The elephant let out a great shriek that would have shattered glass… then nothing. Blood dripping from Rhaegal's jaws as the sack of meat crumbled.

Archers fired a volley at the dragon's scales, but the arrows bounced off both Rhaegal and the King's plate armor._ "Dracarys!"_ Dozens immolated in the resulting fireball, Rhaegal lurching upward with a beat of his wings, crushing another elephant, mahouts and all, with his talons sinking deep into its flesh. Another tongue of flame incinerated three more, drawing a roar from him and a thundering battlecry from the Targaryen Army.

The ropes and pulleys clicked into position. "Ready, Commander!" barked the battery Captain.

Strickland wasted no time. "Fire!"

_THWANG!_

Rhaegal's amber eyes widened. Father! Go! He furled his great wings and lurched up. But it was too late. Large bolts sailing towards him just as they had at Dragonstone… when his brother lost Dany.

Hearing the thwack, Jon felt the fear course through him from Rhaegal. Dragon telling him everything he needed to know. "Sōvegon!"

A deafening explosion of green-white shrouded the beast. Roar of pain and shock piercing the din of battle for miles. Another of Qyburn's contraptions, deployed before field testing… the battle along the Dusken being the field test. Wildfire-tipped ballistae, detonating on contact with the superheated skin of the dragon. Strickland's eyes gleamed with bloodlust. "FIRE EVERYTHING!"

All five mobile ballistae fired their deadly payloads. Bolts screaming in to crash into Rhaegal, dragon hooting in pain as the green-white cloud of Aerys Targaryen's special brew turned against the very bloodline it was supposed to serve. Dragon falling to the ground, landing in a rumbling heap only a hundred feet from the ballistae. King certainly dead upon his back as it whined and twitched, seemingly in death throes.

"Load bolts. Finish it off!" Strickland was keen on finishing this battle. With the Targaryen's bastard King dead, their forces would certainly flee…

Crash! Out of the smoke cloud came the dragon's tail, crushing a ballista into kindling with one swipe. The smoke evaporated into a red-orange tongue of flame that lanced out. Immolating the other four crews in the space of seconds. Rhaegal unfurled his wings, roaring his rage into the air and dissipating the smoke...

Revealing Jon atop his back. Unhurt. Valyrian steel blade gleaming in the sun. Rhaegal roared once more before he hurled into the sky, the King determined to finish the fight once and for all.

A sight which reinvigorated the beleaguered Targaryen army.

_A dragon cannot burn._

_A dragon led them._

Valyrian steel rippled through the air, sunlight glinting off of Oathkeeper as Brienne of Tarth shouted for all to hear. "FORWARD! FOR THE DRAGONS!"

"FOR THE DRAGONS!" In went the last wave of the third line, men-at-arms from Tarth and Gallowsgrey, Martell spearmen, and the howling Free Folk beserkers that struck fear into the hearts of many a sellsword - all had experience with the Dothraki horde, but none the boogeymen from north of the wall.

To the north, the young and dashing Ser Harrold Hardyng had managed to flank the elite Crakehall horse to find the gap where the Golden Company knights should have been. Abandoned to save their sellsword allies, he had no intention of giving up what had to be divine providence. Rallying his five hundred knights, the trumpets blared as the dove banner fluttered in the wind. Men of the Vale reenacting the great charge at Winterfell towards the far left of the Golden Company line.

Fighting for their King, their living god upon his green dragon, the Free Folk surged amongst the Northerners. Swords, spears, bone axes, and flint daggers hacking into the peltasts in a veritable orgy of blood and gore. Living wights ripping apart their enemies, Frostfangs howling like banshees as they charged. Thenns waving their battleaxes to cut down multiple foes with each swing. The King's direwolf snarling as it added the attack, leaping onto peltasts and tearing them to bits with tooth and claw. Joining the rejuvenated northerners in their all out assault on the weakening Golden Company.

Sixty surviving elephants anchored the line opposing them, but the burning husks Rhaegal left of their fellow beasts and the angry jabs from the sarissas of the wildling spearwives, Dornish infantry, Unsullied and northern pikemen were too much for them. Roar booming, Rhaegal unleashed another gout of flame, enveloping two elephants and a hundred men in the utter inferno that was dragonfire. Turning the men into instant ash and causing a primal scream to leave the elephants' trunks before they too succumbed.

One elephant, covered in arrows and mahouts all dead, panicked. Stampeding towards the rear. Another heard and trumpeted, breaking. And then another and another until all the elephants not dead or dying were fleeing the battlefield through their own lines. Men screamed in panic, tossed aside or crushed by the frantic beasts. Mahouts screaming and even jabbing spears into their mounts to no avail, beasts driven into an instinctive terror, the most feared arsenal in the Golden Company now becoming its destruction. Golden armor flew into the air as the elephants took no quarter in their flight, clusters nowhere near the animals finding their armor as a makeshift tomb from Rhaegal's pass after pass - scales glowing from the residual wildfire.

Long the bane of the world, respected but hated across the world for greed and savagery since the Blackfyre Rebellions, the Targaryen Army was not in a position to give mercy."No quarter!" screamed Brienne, Oathkeeper twirling before she rammed it through the armor plate of a peltast.

_"Maghagon nopāzma!"_ In lockstep, the Unsullied surged forward once again, shields together and steamrolling through any force left in its way.

"WE EAT GOOD TONIGHT!" A loud, ragged cheer left the throats of the Thenn warriors as Magnar Sigorn led the Free Folk and Northerners at their foe.

To the North, the victorious knights and Dothraki joined with their Vale reinforcements to erupt into the Golden Company's rear, slaughtering their archers and the van of the fleeing infantry - Rokharro personally beheading Black Balaq himself.

Edric Dayne, Dawn slick with blood and having lost his other blade, peered through matted hair to find a man draped in gold. Mounted and armored but with plate glinting in the sun. _Harry Strickland. Only the Commander would be this clean during a fight._ Spurring his horse into a gallop, he charged towards the enemy commander. Dawn brought up to strike him down.

Just managing to hear the hoofbeats in time, Strickland drew Blackfyre to repel the attack. Steel clashed against steel, the force of Old Valyria clashing with that of a fallen star, but Strickland's moves were sloppy. Clumsy with lack of use, with the lethargy of the high command. Not as sharp as that of the Sword of the Morning, parrying downward, Edric forced an opening. Spinning in his wrists, Dawn tasted its newest and last offering of blood as it sliced across. Harry Strickland's head falling from his body.

* * *

Helmet falling to the dusty ground, Lyle Crakehall pushed back the blood-matted hair from his forehead. Watching as the green dragon circled above him - above the entire force of the Westermen. Unlike the sellswords, among whom had taken over fifteen thousand casualties in the ensuing slaughter following the dragon's attack and elephant stampede, his force had withdrew from the river in good order. Bloodied, but mostly intact.

And he intended to keep it that way.

"Keep them high!" Several white flags fluttered in the cooling breeze, waving frantically so that the King atop his dragon could see it. _Gods, please let him see it._ Many a pair of trousers had been soiled while waiting for the circling dragon to make a move.

The Seven heard his prayers. Hooting, flapping his immense wings, the green dragon landed upon the ground with a loud crash. Roaring with the fury of a thousand lions into the air. Directly at the Westermen, many trembling with fear or even fainting. Lyle certainly wanted to, though the Lord of Crakehall held his ground with the pride of his noble house.

Hopping down to the ground, the Targaryen King looked quite worse for wear. Much of his clothes burned off, armor held only by the metal itself and tattered leather straps. Covered in soot from the wildfire attack, but otherwise completely unharmed. _A true dragon King…_ Where Aegon the Conqueror reborn had come from no one among the Westermen could tell. "Lyle Crakehall, I presume?"

Lyle gulped. "Yes, and you…"

"Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of his Name, born Jon Snow of Winterfell," the Dragon King answered simply.

It took a moment for Lyle to make the connection, shocking him as he did. "So Ned Stark lied to the world?"

"He did." Looking back at Rhaegal, the dragon watching everything intently. "I think we all know what will have to happen next. The choice you have to make. Out of respect, I won't say it, though just know the surviving sellswords did."

"Thank you for that." Sighing, Lyle turned to his army. "You heard the King, men! Do it!" Leading by example, the Commander of the Westerlands forces in the field lowered onto one knee, ancestral sword Tusk planted on the ground. A gesture followed by ten thousand Westermen. Bending the knee and pledging themselves to House Targaryen for the first time in twenty-five years.

Rhaegal threw his head back and shrieked behind his rider. Declaring an end to the slaughter.

House Targaryen had emerged from the Battle of the Dusken River victorious.

_"Got any wounded?"_ asked the Dothraki healer in broken Valyrian, collecting the poor, moaning souls in several rickety carts. Behind were other carts piled high with bodies - corpse carts. Too many were in Unsullied black in Grey Worm's eyes.

Still, it could have been worse. _"Yes, we have several dozen. Those that can walk are already seeking aid. Rest are over there."_ He pointed in the direction of the cluster of Unsullied wounded. "Please let them live."

The old Dothraki woman gave a toothless smile._ "We shall try our best, Turgon Nudha."_ Several screamers moved to carry the wounded to the carts at her direction.

Wiping the sweat and matted blood off his helmet, Grey Worm glanced at the wounded. Some screaming their heads off, some quietly whimpering, and many other hauntingly still - only the soft breathing spilling the secret that they were living. So much death, more than Grey Worm could stomach. _To sail with Missandei to Naath and rest. All I wish for myself at this point._

Suddenly, the commander spotted a familiar face upon the cart. "Marden?" Lying quietly, unmoving upon the cart was Marden Tanner. The man's burly form now quite white with blood loss, leathers stained with dried blood. Rags wrapped tightly around a wound in his ribs. Grey Worm was leaning down upon his friend rather quickly, clasping his hand. "Marden, wake. No sleep, not while wounded."

Eyes weakly fluttering open, his face lazilly lit up in recognition. "Grey… you magnificent bastard…" his voice already hoarse, a hacking cough frothing his beard with a vibrant pink. "Not a scratch… on ya'. Lucky fuck." He tried to grin, but it only looked as if he was passing out from exhaustion. "Hurts to breath."

Grasping the man's hand, Grey Worm gave a comforting squeeze. "Maesters and Healers, they patch you up strong." Anything to lift his friend's spirits.

"Nah…" Tanner shook his head, looking at Grey worm with firm eyes. "My time is coming, I can feel it, my friend." Another cough. More blood from his lungs. "I'll be with my wife again soon. Died fighting with mi' sword in hand." He tried to lift the bastard blade beside him, but his arms were too weak. "Gotta promise mi' somethin', Grey. Please."

Grey Worm couldn't deny his friend's last request. "Aye, tell me."

"Take care of my younguns', Grey. You and that sweetheart of yours. Please find my little 'uns and give 'em a home. They have no one…"

Words falling into angry retches, almost as if Marden was about to hack out his lungs, Grey Worm brought his canteen. Blissfully chilled from the cold wind. Pouring a stream down Tanner's gullet, the dying man sighing in bliss. All the while, the Unsullied's mind racing. Could he truly honor this man's promise? Have a true family with Missandei? _She likely would…_ "Alright. I promise." As with King Aegon, when something once thought impossible was dangled in front of you, one couldn't refuse.

The tension left Tanner, his last worry evaporating. "Thank ya'." He smiled, looking up at the cloudless sky. "I'd like to know some peace before I'die." And then his eyes shut for the final time, last breath heralding Marden Tanner's final journey towards the afterlife. Above him, lips pursed in a tight line, Grey Worm stood upright. Helmet hanging in one hand as he clasped the other to his breast.

**A/N: Jon is victorious! The great Dragonwolf, securing the Westerlands and crushing the Golden Company. Cersei picked the wrong time to go into labor, lol. **

**Now, Grey Worm has promised to care for two northern orphans... So many future possibilities :D**

**Translations:**

_**Sumby dōros = Shield Wall**_

_**Memēbagon = advance**_

_**Lanta dekuragon = two paces**_

**_Maghagon nopāzma = give them hell_**

**If I can get 30 reviews, I'll update on Tuesday :D**

**Next time, the flight of the Queen.**


	11. Ch 11: A Dragon's Reunion

**A/N: ****Hey all! Huge reception for the last chapter, so here's the update as promised :D**

**A little short, but I think it is quite powerful :D**

**Leave a comment, and be sure to check out the new update of An Empire of Ice and Fire!**

Chapter 11: A Dragon's Reunion

The torches danced against the walls outside the catacombs. Shadows shifting like some ancient ritual of the Old Gods, First Men dressed in furs and antlers as they cavorted in their godswoods - not like the Andals following them were any better or more civilized. Gods knew the man waiting among the shadows how civilized his brethren were. Jaime Lannister was alone, and certainly had much time to think about such matters.

Hollow, empty, the Red Keep seemed like a graveyard. Devoid of life, servants and guards fleeing like rats to wherever they could as the stench of blood and death managed to hang everywhere. So much death in these hallowed walls. Maegor the Cruel, wrists slashed upon the Iron Throne. Baelor the Blessed, starving himself. Joffrey Baratheon, choking on his own blood from Olenna Tyrell's poison. Aerys Targaryen… dead by Jaime's own hand.

And now Cersei Lannister clung to life. Shrouded in the land between life and death while her beloved brother plotted against her - all for the innocent being currently tucked in Jaime's left arm...

_Jaime didn't even wait for Ser Boros Blount to reach for the door handle before he threw it open. "What in seven hells is happening?!" He demanded, seizing Qyburn by the collar of his maester's robe. "I better find out in the next ten seconds before I snap your twig of a neck."_

_Even the threat of deadly violence didn't wipe off Qyburn's smug ghost of a grin. The Kingslayer had been 'inspecting' the defenses of King's Landing just as the Goldcloaks informed him of a 'crisis' in the Red Keep. Whether Jaime was enraged at potential danger to Cersei or at having to be summoned to the Keep was unknown to Qyburn._

_And he didn't enjoy things he didn't know. "The Queen was under great stress based on the failure of Commander Strickland to arrive promptly from Hayford Castle."_

_"That's because he set a path north of Hayford!" Jaime had received the raven at the Gate of the Gods. Marked for Lyle Crakehall for him alone. "They could already have been annihilated for all I know, so I ask if you have any knowledge of this… or is that why you brought me over here?"_

_"No, I have heard nothing from the army." Qyburn's slippers clattered on the floor as Jaime released him. "I require you because the Queen has gone into labor."_

_Eyes widening to near saucers, Jaime felt dread course through him. Not for Cersei, but… "What of the child?! Is it stillborn?!"_

_Qyburn cocked an eyebrow. "Her Grace has passed into a coma, I'm afraid. Labor was hard on her, given the age of the pregnancy. We don't know if she will wake, and I've assumed the duties of the monarch for the time being." He scuttled to a far door, opening it to reveal a mousy-haired servant girl holding a swaddled bundle. "Crown Prince Tywin of House Lannister on the other hand is in the peak of health…"_

Looking down at his son, young Tywin yawned, stretching his little arms in an attempt to get more comfortable. Jaime felt his heart skip a beat. Tufts of golden hair, strong cheekbones, and green eyes beneath the red, soft skin of infancy, this baby would grow up to be the paragon of House Lannister. Only by his vow, Jaime would never let his precious babe be subjected to Cersei for one moment.

Muffled voices drew his attention, and he slunk back into the shadows.

"Are you sure it's this way?" a female voice whispered.

"Aye, this is where the fuckin' Imp came through to set up that bullshit dragonpit meetin…" The other stilled, peering into the darkness. "I know you're there, Lion Lord. Come out."

Sighing at Bronn's skills - though it wasn't necessarily a bad thing in this situation - Jaime stepped into view. Just as planned, next to him was the small, hooded form of Daenerys Targaryen. Dressed in worn riding clothes and a homespun woolen cloak. "Your Grace," He bowed slightly.

Daenerys eyed him over. "So it was you behind this, Ser Jaime." She should have known - reaching the babe in his arm, her eyes widened. "Is that Cersei's child?"

"Aye. My son." He gave Tywin one last kiss on the cheek, murmuring that he would hopefully see him soon before handing him off to Daenerys. "I can't let him grow up with Cersei imprinting her madness on him. And that favor I asked you…"

"Say no more." Daenerys cooed at the child, a natural mother. The future prince and princess would truly break the cycle of horrible childhoods for the current power players of the realm. "I owe you a great debt, Ser Jaime."

Jaime shook his head. "It is I and Tyrion that owe you a debt, your Grace." He produced a letter. "Give this to Brienne… please." Bronn took it, eyeing him warily. "The guards have been alerted to a potential infiltration near the tourney grounds, so the beach should be deserted. Good luck." Watching his son disappear with the Queen, Jaime hoped that he would fulfill the whispered promise he made to Tywin… while resigned that he would die here with Cersei.

_Take care of him, Tyrion… please forgive me, Brienne._ Ice blonde hair filling his mind, Jaime disappeared back into the Red Keep.

As morning dawned on the capitol, sun casting a blinding glare atop Blackwater Bay as it rose to the east, Jaime found a pounding rap on the door to his chambers. Brushing the sleep from his eyes, he rose - still clad in his silk nightshirt fit for the Prince Consort to the Queen. But just as he opened the door Ser Boros and Ser Balon Swann burst in, grabbing him by the waist and shoulders. Pinning him to the floor.

Writhing, punching Ser Balon in the leg before a kick to the ribs stilled him, Jaime snarled. "What is the fucking meaning of this! I am the Prince Consort!"

"Jaime of House Lannister." A glance up found a smiling Qyburn, eyes twinkling with mirth. "You are under arrest for treason against the crown. Lift him up." Taking the brunt of Jaime's death glare with good humor, Qyburn leaned in. "Such is the price to pay for the babe. _Valar Morghulis._" He smiled as Jaime was led away to the black cells, so looking forward to seeing the Queen's reaction to her lover's betrayal.

_'Now let it work,'_ he thought with a smirk. _'My dear Chaos, take whatever course you wish.'_

* * *

"Ahhhhh…" Ahead of her, Daenerys could hear Ser Bronn of the Blackwater take a deep breath. Sighing contently. "Gods, it's good to be out of the shit and rot of that damned city." Night had descended over the Crownlands, shrouding the forest road in darkness - broken only by the faint moonlight. "Worst city in the damned world."

Little Tywin cooing in her arms, Daenerys held the reins one handed - a skill picked up among the Dothraki - softly rocking the baby. "Have you been to any other cities?" Alone with just him and the babe, who else did the Queen have to talk to?

Eyes peeled for anything moving in the underbrush, Bronn clicked his tongue. "All of em. Oldtown, Gulltown, Pentos, Braavos, Lys… now that was a beauty. Never did make it to White Harbor, and I fuckin' grew up in Lannisport. All of em smelled like shit, but King's Landin' is the worst. Was horrible and only got worse now that the bitch is in charge." Bronn shook his head. "No castle is worth suckin' her twat. Not even fuckin' Harrenhal, and I'd sell my best friend's arm for that fuckin' thing."

Daenerys couldn't help but laugh, the former sellsword having a roguish charm about him. It was clear how he survived things that killed most others in his line of work - a quick wit that could bluff his way out of situations, and sharp skills that could fight his way out if the bluffs didn't work. Such brought them out of King's Landing, the bodies of many a Goldcloak left on the beach. Many a checkpoint or roving band of marauders waved off by a hardened soldier with a 'wife and child.' The days had been tiring and so were the nights, but with the Dusken River approaching, Daenerys envisioned the end to their journey approaching.

A quiet cry left Tywin, babe squirming in discomfort. "It's alright, little darling," she whispered, rocking him. "All will be fine." The sweet babe was drawing out her latent maternal instincts - Daenerys couldn't wait till she got to hold her own little ones like this.

"Why do you do that?" She looked up to see Bronn peering back at her over his shoulder. Quizzical look on his face. "That's the kid of the Lion Cunt and the fuck that murdered your father. Why would ya' fookin' take care of it?"

Such was a powerful question. The babe looked almost exactly as a male version of Cersei, down to the very eyes. All rational sense would dictate that Daenerys should hate him, but… Even being the son of her greatest enemy… he was just so innocent with his serene expression and milky green eyes. A symbol of the future, just as were her and Jon's unborn darlings nestled in her womb. "A child should not bear the sins of his or her parents, Ser Bronn. They have their own choices to make, while those sins were the choices of another." Many would have looked upon her as the image of her father, and Daenerys vowed never to do that to any innocent child.

The former sellsword snorted. "Never knew my father. Some second son of a prissy lord, never did catch the name from my mother - alls I know is he raped her during the fall of Castamere."

Daenerys felt her heart go out to the sellsword. "I'm sorry… no one deserves that." Her wedding night came to mind. "Was she a servant girl?"

"Ha, would you believe she was the daughter of Lord Reyne herself." He laughed harder at Dany's look of shock. "Yip, I'm of high birth, believe it or not. Little fuck it did me, though." Quite a small world… a world of pain and of sorrow. Was it truly her ancestor Aegon's intention when he, Rhaenys, and Visenya formed Westeros? That it descend into such madness where war and strife were the new normal rather than an aberration, or did their descendents not live up to the ideal in their fights with the old order?

Whatever the case, she planned on rectifying that. Uniting with Jon as she should have. Breaking the wheel together and finally building a kingdom that the conquering trio would be proud of.

Suddenly, the gallop of horses thundered through the forest trail. Snorting mounts and glowering riders circling the group. Dothraki. Their braids and curved swords were dead giveaways. _"What are you fools doing so close to camp? Deserters from the Golden Company?"_ From underneath the hood that shrouded her features, Daenerys understood. Bronn didn't, but he knew better than to antagonize this patrol.

Bronn gave a disarming grin, but the Dothraki were not charmed. Yanking him off his horse and holding his arms tightly behind his back. "Ah… easy fellas. We're all friends here."

One screamer pulled the blade from his scabbard, along with a hidden knife. _"Cunt must be up to no good,"_ he barked in Dothraki. _"Shall I kill him right here?"_

_"Do it. He probably was sent by the Lion Bitch."_

_"You will not harm him,"_ Daenerys thundered in her precise, perfect Dothraki. Tightening her hold on little Tywin, shielding him from the harm and abrasiveness of the world. _"You will take me to… Khal Aegon."_ There was a little hitch in her voice at that name, knowing exactly who it referred to. _My sweet, amazing wolf… dragonwolf._ Dany could just feel his arms around her again.

The two warriors looked at each other before bursting out in a guttural laughter. "Oh yeah? And why the fuck should we listen to you?" He crossed his arms over his burly chest with a smirk.

Scowling, Daenerys simply reached up and pulled back her hood. Revealing her silver hair and violet eyes. Baring herself to the world for the first time since escaping the Red Keep. Wiping the smirks from the warrior's faces.

Now, they just stared in complete shock. _"Khal… khaleesi!"_ Gaping, they fell to their knees. Faced with the Mother of Dragons herself. The Queen that had emerged from two raging pyres completely unharmed - that had led the Dothraki horde into battle on dragonback. That had taken them across the bitter water to defeat the men in the iron suits. _"Forgive us, honored Khaleesi. We are at your service."_

Knowing they meant it, she let her anger go. "_Rise, qoy qoyi."_ They visibly relaxed before her. _"This man protected me and saved me from the Lion Bitch. He is fine, though keep an eye on him just in case."_

They nodded. _"Consider it done, Khaleesi."_

Weapons handed back to him, Bronn chuckled nervously. "Thanks for that, your Grace."

"No problem, Ser Bronn. I do owe you for all you've done for me." Tyrion may have been an idiot for letting him have Highgarden, but a more appropriate Lordship wouldn't be out of the equation for his service to House Targaryen. All saddled up on their horses once more, flicks of the reins sent the party directly for the sleepy Targaryen camp.

Hood secured back in place, Daenerys made sure to not be spotted even if there were more than the occasional drunk gaggle of bannermen passing by - flagons in their hands and songs on their lips. Most of the tents were still, while Dany could hear the sounds of passion in many. All quite familiar to her from the days of travelling with the khalasar. _"What is going on? Why the celebration?"_

_"Big battle, Khaleesi,"_ one of the riders told her. _"Khal Aegon rode on the green dragon and slaughtered the Golden Company. Men in iron suits from the west bent the knee to him. Been nonstop celebration since."_

Pride and satisfaction surged through Daenerys. Not only had Jon claimed his birthright, but had fully claimed Rhaegal as his own. _You truly woke the dragon, my love._ She didn't know if she could have loved him any more than she did at that moment. Quickly translating for Bronn, he let out a whistle. "Lion Cunt certainly won't like that." Both of them were laughing within seconds.

_"Khaleesi? Is it true? Is the Khalakka nestled in your belly?"_ Both riders looked at her intently.

An eyebrow quirked up, but she reasoned Jon knew what he was doing. _"Yes, qoy qoyi. I bear the stallion and mare that will mount the world."_ At their brilliant smiles, Dany knew she would have to eat a horse heart in front of the khalasar… all for the babes.

Quietly, they had reached the tent of the King - Daenerys thanking the Dothraki and telling them to escort Bronn to a tent reserved for important prisoners. She couldn't believe her luck, not being seen by anyone during the ride. Not that she wouldn't make her presence known, but there was one person that she needed to see before any others. Tywin making his presence known with slight murmurs, Dany debated finding Missandei when a figure left Jon's tent.

"Pardon me, my lady…" Catching the violet glint of her eyes under the hood, Davos Seaworth's jaw dropped. "Your Grace…"

Dany quickly placed a finger to her lips. "I need to speak with Jon… before everything."

Davos was smart, and her simply being here told him enough of what he needed to know. Eyes shifted to the babe. "And who is that?"

"A favor… for Ser Jaime." She watched him nod. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all, of course." Davos scooped Tywin into his arms, holding him expertly. "Haven't held a babe in years, but a father never forgets." He regarded Dany warmly. "I was telling him about a small council meeting we're holding in about an hour, but he refuses to budge from his brooding. His Grace is in rough shape… please, take his hurt away."

Her expression softened. "I will." Sparing one last smile at Ser Davos, grateful for the man's almost fatherly concern for her beloved, Daenerys sucked in a deep breath. Steeling her trembling nerves, she pulled back the tent flap and ducked inside.

* * *

She stopped. Frozen in her tracks as the flap swayed shut behind her. Daenerys stared, mouth opening and eyes watering. There, hunched against a table from obvious exhaustion and heartbreak was Jon. Her Jon. Raven hair released from its trademark bun, loose curls brushing his shoulders - something she utterly loved and wished he'd partake in more. Off to the side, a set of plate armor rested atop a stand, covered in soot. Emblazoned with not just the Stark direwolf but also the Targaryen dragon. It made her heart skip a beat. _He accepted it… he accepted our family._

Love and longing surging through him, she tried to speak. But no words came out. The Queen overwhelmed by the moment.

Hearing the rustle of the tent flap, head pounding, Jon was unwilling to even lift a finger. Even the slightest movement brought him physical agony. "I said I didn't want to be disturbed." He refused to look behind him. "Should I find men willing to obey my orders."

His northern broague wafting into her ears after so long, it sent a livewire through Daenerys. Her breath hitching, stifling a gasp. Eyes glistening with unshed tears as she finally was brought back to the man she loved. Her home. The entire moment felt surreal, Dany hoping to every deity that could exist that this wasn't some sick dream induced by her prison cot. "J-Jon…" Her voice was so soft, even she could barely hear it.

"Leave me!" Jon thundered, this time head tilting upward. Eyes screwed shut. _Gods, Davos. Why can't you just leave me in peace._ "GO!"

_Don't wake the dragon._ For years she had witnessed Viserys abuse that phrase to justify his petty, abusive temper tantrums. But only now did Daenerys understand the true meaning of that phrase. Her nephew, her love, he was a true dragon.

It filled her with strength. "Jon."

The King froze. Headache and fatigue, rage and irritation evaporating into thin air. That voice… He slowly stood, disbelief written on his face. It can't be… the gods are not that kind to me… Jon, trembling ever so slightly, turned. Easing out from his chair and desk to look upon the intruder…

When their eyes met, warmth returned to their world. Surging forth to envelop them in its soothing embrace. Dany stood shock still, unable to move at the intense gaze his grey eyes forced upon her. As wonderfully enchanting as on the ship to White Harbor, Daenerys finding him at her door ready to give in to their carnal lust and onrushing feelings for each other - only even more so now. Before a hesitant bastard, now stood the dynamic, certain gait of a King. Of a dragon, sending shivers down her spine.

_By the gods themselves, he is even handsomer than before._ An eventuality she had thought impossible.

Sowly, softly, Jon stepped closer to the ethereal silver beauty standing within the tent. Wishing to savor the form as long as possible, in case this was some cruel trick. That she would disappear upon first touch. His shaking hand reached up. Easing close to her cheek. His gaze meeting her violet eyes, brimming with pure adoration. Fingertips just beginning to brush the warm alabaster skin of her cheek…

Daenerys instinctively leaned into his touch. Jon's soft, firm hands left calloused from years of toil and strain, but still gentle upon her. Representative of the entire man she loved. Of her beautiful dragonwolf. Eyes fluttering shut. Enjoying the warmth and comfort his touch gave her.

"My eyes don't deceive me," he murmured, voice hoarse. "You…" Jon's breath hitched from emotion. "You are real. You are here… Dany…"

Her name on his lips broke her. Crashing through the beams that had held Daenerys Stormborn up for so long through hells on earth. "Jon!"

It would be known long after that Daenerys made the first mad dash towards her beloved, Jon's arms opening a split second later. But in the present, one moment Jon and Daenerys were at arms length and in the next they were pulled into a tight embrace. Flush against each other as they cried. Tears of sadness. Tears of joy. Tears of a weight crushing them for weeks and months finally lifted.

Sobbing, Dany buried her face in the warmth of his chest. Seeking out his heartbeat. "I'm sorry, Jon. I'm so sorry…"

"Shh, shhh," Jon whispered through his own cries. Breathing in the smooth scent of her hair. Lavender and vanilla, one that always brought him comfort. "I'm sorry too, Dany." The tears trickled down his eyes. "Please forgive me."

Daenerys pulled back, this time cupping his cheek. Gently wiping the tear stains from his cheek - though her face was likelier an even worse mess, she only had eyes for him at the moment. "There is nothing to forgive, my beautiful dragonwolf." Without further words, the King and Queen brought their lips together. Broken, empty souls now whole once more.

**A/N: Even I was crying at the last part. Jon and Dany, together again.**

**Escape attempt couldn't be perfect, so Jaime is now the prisoner. Brought out my latent Shakespeare for the last line by Qyburn, so what is he planning?**

**Next time, the continuation of the reunion ;)**


	12. Ch 12: A Dragon's Love

**A/N: ****Hey all! Time to continue their reunion ;)**

**Good news! My Rhaegar/Lyanna story is finally on paper and out of the drawing room. It's called My Father's Son and should be out soon! Everyone be sure to check it out when it is published :D**

**Leave a comment.**

Chapter 12: A Dragon's Love

Neither could tell how much time had passed, so lost were the two young lovers in their kiss. Hardened beyond their twenty-three shared years upon the earth - but freed from the shackles of their duty by the other's embrace. Passion filled them, not of the sensual kind. Such would come later, so starved were they for their long lost beloved, but the loving touches and dueling tongues reforged an intimacy foolishly broken. Reacquainting themselves with their love once more.

Daenerys couldn't get enough of Jon. His spicy scent, the sharp ripple of his strong neck and shoulder muscles, the soft but calloused hands of a hardened warrior that ghosted over her breeches and cloak. _Gods… he is perfect._ Hungry for his kisses, she yanked his head with her fingers. Pulling Jon's mouth tighter against hers.

A sharp bark broke them apart. Putting a foot of distance between them when a persistent and excited ball of fur bounded to Dany. Snout nudging against her side and tongue lolling with joy at the lithe Valyrian beauty finally returning and bringing joy back to his father.

"Ghost!" Jon exclaimed, laughing. Crossing his arms as the direwolf's forceful affection sent Dany to her knees, unable to keep herself up. "Be gentle with her, boy."

Delighted giggles left Dany's lips, the massive direwolf's tongue licking all over her hands and face. "Ghost… stop it… I'm happy to see you too." Ghost, yipping, shifted down to nuzzle her midsection. The fearsome beast that put fear into the hearts of many a warrior nothing more than an overgrown puppy gently brushing his snout over the amazing scent within the stomach of the woman he had accepted as his mother. Daenerys herself began ruffling and scratching his white fur, only coaxing more happy yips from him. "You're the same softie as you were at Winterfell," she giggled.

Jon couldn't help but laugh harder. "He always liked your scratches the most, the traitor." By now Ghost was on his back, panting as Dany tickled his belly. It made for a rather strange scene - tiny Valyrian beauty taming the mighty direwolf. But Jon had turned Rhaegal into the same happy mess by scratching the scales of his jaw so he'd seen stranger. "Alright boy, enough. Let Dany and I have some alone time."

Rolling back on his legs, Ghost barked once more before bounding out, far more energy in him than he had in awhile. Composing herself through her giggles, Dany wrapped her hands around his waist. "Oh Jon, must've you sent him away. I missed the little furball."

Ghost was very picky with people. He hated Slynt, Rast, and especially Tanner, while taking to Maester Aemon and Davos quite well. Dany, he seemed to love the most of all, the loyal direwolf sticking closer to her than even Missandei in the days before the Long Night. "I don't doubt that, but I'd think you'd miss me the most."

She pressed her ear to his chest, listening to his comforting heartbeat. "Mmmm, I did, ñ_uha jorrāelagon_." Nuzzling the hard planes - Jon was certainly the prime specimen of a man in her eyes - Daenerys felt all her worries leaving her. "So Davos is the new Hand?"

Jon chuckled, rubbing circles on her back. "Aye. Tyrion's fucked up too much to leave him in charge. Honestly, everything he suggests has ended horribly." He kissed her head. "I wish I had been there on Dragonstone earlier to talk you out of that ridiculous Casterly Rock idea."

"Your military mind would have been greatly appreciated, my Jon." _That's who he is, my Jon. Mmmmm, mine. All mine._ Dragons were possessive over their mates, and Dany was no exception, holding him tighter. "And the others?"

"Varys is still here, though I'm not sure who's side he's on."

"I promised him something." Her voice turned to steel. "If he betrayed me - now us - I'd burn him alive. Should I do that?"

He thought for a moment. "Not yet. I'm still not sure." Jon couldn't tell her what he had planned. "Sansa is here as well." A wince hit him as Dany stiffened. "I talked to her, set her straight. She won't be coming between us."

"Good, cause I'd burn her alive as well. It's her fault we're in this mess, I know it."

_I told her who I was._ But the past was the past. "If we look back, we are lost."

Sighing, she kissed his chest. "You do listen."

"You say the wisest things sometimes, my dragon." Gods, he loved her. "And you didn't tell me how smart Missandei is. She's been indispensable along with Davos."

The fact Jon had grown close to Missandei warmed Dany's heart. "Looks like we have a proper inner circle there, my love." Something the Dothraki patrol had told her earlier came to Dany's mind, peering into Jon's eyes. "Jon… was there a battle earlier? Did you fight?" She wanted his honest answer, and hoped he didn't downplay it for her sanity.

"Aye, there was." He gently took her hand and pressed it to his heart - silently calming her with his having lived. Even after so long apart, Jon knew her so well. "Flanked around the Golden Company with my northerners, the Dornish, the Dothraki, and Unsullied. Tried to break through Grey Worm's line with their elephants…"

Her veins went ice cold. "Please tell me Grey Worm…" After Ser Jorah, Dany didn't think she could take another loss.

A sweet kiss silenced her. "He survived." Jon smiled as relief spread on Dany's face. "Rhaegal and I swept in and turned the tide."

This time Dany looked at him with surprise. "You… you rode Rhaegal into battle?" _My child was there at the Gate of the Gods, but I didn't see Jon ride him._

Jon blushed, sheepish at the stare from the Mother of Dragons. "He and I… we've gotten quite close." Blinking, he came to face with a massive smile. "Once the men saw us emerge from a cloud of wildfire unfazed, ours couldn't be stopped and theirs couldn't surrender fast enough."

Dany's smile only grew, a pleasant warmth filling her. "Unburnt…" He truly was a Targaryen. A Dragon, just like her. Drifting away from his hold, feeling as if on a cloud, Daenerys drifted to the hanging armor on the stand - running her hand over the three-headed dragon seal emblazoned upon it. "You've accepted it… Aegon."

Even though Jon embraced his Targaryen name, it still felt… alien to him. But the way Daenerys said it, with her flowing, sultry accent, it set him alight. He wouldn't mind hearing it from her again. "It is my name. My house." Jon shrugged. "No longer am I a bastard."

Though he could ride a dragon, bring fire and blood upon his enemies both in battle and upon the throne, alone among the one person he could truly let all walls and armor down around he did find the traumas of his life to bubble to the surface. Daenerys rushed to him. Crashing their lips together. Willing away his feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing with her passion and love. Loving how he relaxed in her arms. Letting the tension leaving him.

She pulled back. "Jon, my love. You were never a bastard, never to me." Even when he infuriated her, refusing to bend the knee before her at Dragonstone, Dany had never seen him as a bastard. A stubborn, rebellious and dismissive King - _as much a dragon as a wolf_ \- but never as someone who's birth rendered them unworthy. "Be your name Snow or Targaryen, you were always my King." His eyes softened, sparkling. Gods, she knew he loved her as passionately as she did him. "You and I, we were always meant to rule beside each other. To unite the realm out of love, not fear, and finally defeat the Army of the Dead and Cersei Lannister."

The gentle, caring Jon that Daenerys had fallen head over heels for disappeared at her words. Morphing into something that she had never seen before. Fists clenching. Skin searing. Grey Eyes morphing into a dark ring of violet, burning furiously in a way that made her gasp. "Cersei," he hissed, as if the name were the vilest curse. "She. Will. Burn." His tone left no room for argument. "I will have Rhaegal burn her to a crisp for what she did to us. For how she hurt Rhaegal, hurt Drogon. Killed Viserion… _our children_."

A pulsing hit her core at how he was speaking. At what he spoke. The anger. The fury. Referring to her dragons as 'ours,' belonging to them both. His violet eyes… _This must have been what the dragonlords of old were like._ Gods, Daenerys hadn't wanted him this badly since their first night on the boat - and she had an insatiable need for him.

But his next words put her close to tears. "She nearly took everything from me." The anger was gone from him, replaced with sorrow. "Took away the moment I had been dreaming of since falling for you, Dany."

Their children - she knew what he meant. A beautiful moment, proving her womb to be barren no more. Torn away by the vile machinations of Cersei Lannister, a woman closer to the Mad King Aerys than Daenerys would ever be… Reaching up to cup the face of her love, Dany knew what she had to do. "Jon… _vēzos qēlossās ñuho_."

Jon didn't understand the Valyrian words, but knew them to be words of the deepest affection. _I must ask Missandei to teach me._ As she swiped at the tears falling down his cheek, he smiled softly. "Yes, Dany?"

_Saying my name like that - so full of love..._ It made her weak at the knees. "Remember what you told me on the boat? While we were wrapped in each others arms?"

"That was pretty much what we did on the entire voyage, my dragon," he chuckled quietly. "You'll have to be more specific."

Daenerys' smile grew wider. "A sentiment you repeated on our last night together. About the witch."

Brows furrowing, confusion covered his face. "What? How does…?" And suddenly Jon's eyes widened. Understanding replacing the confusion - realizing what she was trying to do. Realization turning into pure, unrestrained love. "I believe I said 'The cunt was lying.'" He laughed.

She laughed as well, looping her arms around his neck. "Jon… my love… you were right." Tears slipped from her lids in spite of herself, but they were happy ones. "You always said that I make the impossible happen, and the same is true for you. Well… we did." Gently taking his arm in her hand, she guided his to her still flat stomach. Felt Jon resting his warm palm over the ever so slight swell that contained their children.

Jon couldn't believe it… couldn't believe how he had gotten the perfect woman to fall for him. But here she was, gifting them their moment. The one Cersei Lannister tried to steal from them. All his dreams of the last few months led to this, and he was going to enjoy his chance to reclaim what they had lost. "Daenerys…" His voice was hoarse with emotion. "Are you…?"

Her smile grew impossibly wide. "I believed an unreliable source of information." What he had said in the Dragonpit, Daenerys knew that it had been the time she truly fell hopelessly in love with Jon Snow… Aegon Targaryen, it turned out. _Blood of my blood._ "You and I will be the parents of two little dragons."

And this floored him. Put actual shock in his expression, making him tremble. "Two… two babes?" Jon's other hand drifted down, both pressing reverently on her stomach. While it was supposed to be a reclamation of what they had lost, there was something Cersei had been unable to steal from them. "How is that possible?"

"I do believe that even a brother of the Night's Watch knows how babes are made, Jon Snow," Daenerys giggled.

"But… how do you know?"

Leaning forward to kiss him softly, Daenerys locked her gaze into his eyes - now a gentle grey with rings of violet. _Love comes in at the eyes._ "Dragons are magical creatures, as are direwolves. Try to feel our little darlings, my dragonwolf. Please?"

Closing his eyes, letting his mind concentrate as he cupped her abdomen, Daenerys waited with baited breath. Hoping that her beloved could feel the sheer wonder she did. The joy that they were the last dragons no more. And when it came, the soft sob, the joyous tears, the quiver in his lip, she knew he felt it too. "Dany… we're having twins."

"We are." Leaning up on her toes, she kissed him deeply. Yelping in his mouth as Jon picked her up. Twirling her around with a smile of unadulterated happiness. Never had they been so happy till that moment. Dany felt as if she were on a cloud when he put her down. "Jon…" She suddenly remembered. "Your question from before, I never did answer it." She inhaled deeply, trembling. "My answer is yes."

Beaming smile taking a hold of him, Jon grabbed her waist. Searching to make sure she spoke true. "Yes?"

Daenerys prayed she would see that smile of his every day for eternity. "Yes, I will marry you, Aegon Targaryen." Nothing could stop her happiness - at long last, Daenerys Targaryen found her home. Not a place, but him. Her dragonwolf. Someone who respected and treasured both the great queen she was and the loving soul beneath it. _Gods, I'm so lucky._ "I… I love you, my King."

Jon pressed another kiss to her lips. "And I adore you, my Queen. My dragon. _My bride_." He made her melt. The unburnt, literally melting. "And now let's go to bed, Dany." His eyes darkened once more, this time with lust rather than rage.

Her insides burned again for him, but… "Jon… I think we should go to the council meeting."

"Fuck them," he growled, half-wolf and half-dragon. It made her wet. "You're mine, Daenerys Targaryen."

She rubbed her legs together to ease the ache between them. "You will have me tonight. As much as you want… but I want our friends and… foes to know that I am back. And that you and I will never ever be apart again." Her determination was mirrored with his.

* * *

As Hand of the King, Davos did a headcount - Missandei, Grey Worm, Tyrion, Tormund, Varys, Howland Reed, and Sansa along with himself. All the senior leadership present, and no sign of the King. "Alright, perhaps we should start…"

The tent flap swished open and in walked the King, looking relaxed with a rare smile on his face. Any confusion as to the complete turnaround in his mood was dispelled at the sight of the shorter figure walking in behind him. Silver hair sparkling in the firelight from the braziers. "Your Graces," all chorused, quickly sinking to their knees. Jon had told them before to ignore such formalities before, so it was their own way to herald the arrival of the Queen.

Daenerys smiled at all of them, taking Jon's hand in hers. A silent display for all as to the status of their relationship. "Rise."

No sooner than she had said that was Missandei embracing her. Dropping the formalities out of friendship and happiness. "I'm so glad you're alright, your Grace."

"As I am for you, dearest Missandei," Dany replied with genuine emotion. Breaking apart, she was greeted by Ser Davos. "I hear that you are my new Hand, my Lord."

Davos merely bowed. "I hope to be of proper service to you, your Grace."

"If Jon trusts you, then I shall as well." A beaming smile was directed to her betrothed. "He hasn't led me wrong yet."

The Onion Knight noticed this, hiding his own smile. Young love. "Your Grace. This is Howland Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch and one of His Grace's main allies in divulging his identity."

Dany raised an eyebrow. "You knew?"

Howland nodded. "I was with Ned Stark when we found the Lady Lyanna in the tower of Joy. I swore to him to keep the secret and protect House Targaryen's newest Prince. I am honored to extend such an oath to his bride as well."

"Your loyalty is quite welcome, my Lord…"

"Well fuck me blind and call me Mance Rayder!" Tormund slapped Dany's back, nearly staggering her. "Yer' a sight for sore eyes, Queen Crow!"

"I'm glad to see you as well, Tormund," Daenerys chuckled, recovering her bearings. "Queen Crow?" she whispered in Jon's ear as they moved to their positions around the map table.

Jon shrugged. "He calls me King Crow. I think Tormund has given his vote in favor of our marriage." He felt Dany press a kiss to his jaw in response.

Further greetings were exchanged, tension palpable between the Queen and the remaining advisors - Varys was cordial, Tyrion was apologetic, and Sansa was… quite frosty. Daenerys wasn't keen on letting any of them in the tent with the more… effective advisors, but if Jon wanted them then she would trust him. "Alright, what is the situation we find ourselves in?" Out of the gate, taking control of the discussion. A true Queen.

"Our victory was complete," Jon answered before anyone else could, moving the pieces around the map personally. "Twelve thousand Westermen kneeling, fifteen thousand sellswords captured. Remainder are dead or scattered, our Dothraki patrols hunting them down."

"We estimate the only troops Cersei has are the City Watch and a couple thousand rear echelon forces too green for battle," Tyrion commented. "Along with enough to man the static anti-dragon defenses."

Daenerys pursed her lips. "And the Iron Fleet?" She stared at her advisors. "I hope you don't think I forgot about them, did you?"

"No one would think you that stupid, your Grace," Davos smirked, pointing to Blackwater Bay. "Based on the latest intelligence, they left the harbor two weeks ago. Lord Rykker at Duskendale says they haven't been spotted in the northern bay, so they could be anywhere."

"Perhaps the King and Queen could scout him out on their dragons?" Sansa mused.

Jon silenced her with a glare. "Sister, Rhaegal is still recovering from the battle… and you know about Drogon…"

"What about Drogon?" Not helping herself, Daenerys could hear the slight panic in her voice. "Is he hurt?" She bit her lip.

Sighing, Jon covered her hand with his. "Physically, he's fine, but since you were captured he's been closed off to everyone. Simply resting on Dragonstone, depressed."

Her heart broke for her darling Drogon. "I will fly with Jon to Dragonstone as soon as possible. Bring Drogon here."

"A second dragon would certainly allow for a stronger attack upon the capitol," Tyrion said, tapping his fingers atop the table. "Although it would be preferable to see if the loss of her army would make Cersei more amenable…"

A fist slammed on the table. "Enough of this, Lord Tyrion," hissed Missandei. Shocking even the Queen at her forcefulness. "You give your sister every benefit of the doubt, even though she's clearly lost the right to live by her numerous crimes. She tried to kill you, so what possibly do you have to worry about in King's Landing?"

He hung his head, voice quiet. "My unborn niece or nephew… they are innocent…"

"Your nephew is no longer in King's Landing, Lord Tyrion." He looked up with wide eyes at Daenerys. Everyone except Davos did, shocked. "Tywin Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock, was born several days ago, while Cersei is in a coma due to a complicated labor. Ser Jaime gave him to me and Ser Bronn of the Blackwater while he was helping us escape."

"So that explains it." Varys pursed his lips. "My birds sing songs of Ser Jaime being taken into custody by Lord Qyburn. They must have found out of his true allegiance."

_Damn you Cersei._ Daenerys looked at Tyrion, his face mired in pain. "She will pay for her crimes, as will her inner circle, but only them. I do not intend on punishing a child for their parent's crimes. Little Tywin will go to your care, Lord Tyrion. Make sure to raise him well."

Wiping a stray tear, the Imp nodded. Touched by his Queen. "I will. Thank you so much, your Grace." Tyrion certainly hadn't been so… delighted while sober in a long time. Looking over at the King and Queen, just abashedly affectionate with each other in a manner he had frankly never seen in nobility before, the Imp couldn't deny that their happiness was affecting the moods of nearly everyone here. _That or the battle, though probably both._ "Well, considering that the entirety of the high command believes and the entire realm will soon believe that their Graces are already married, we could save the actual wedding for the coronation…"

"We will get married as soon as possible," Jon cut him off, voice curt.

"Tomorrow." Daenerys' bark was even more determined than the King's. Eyes locked on Jon's while speaking to everyone. "We will be married tomorrow, for our children will not be bastards for one day longer."

"Children?" it was Sansa, eyes wide.

"Aye, I am pregnant with twins." Smiles all around, even from Sansa. "Find a Septon, preferably one with discretion."

Missandei did not hide the grin forming on her face. "Do you think this would be… rather rash, your Grace?" The questioning tone did not reach her eyes.

Dany never broke her gaze at Jon, violet sparkling with love. "The King says we are married. Who are we to make him a liar, or the Lords and Ladies of Westeros dupes?"

"Plenty of Septons have arrived to bless the dead from the battle," Davos interjected, also not hiding his smile. _Both have come a long way, gods bless them._ "I'm sure I can find one on short notice."

"Get it done, my Lord Hand," Dany replied, now looking at him gratefully. She was starting to grow on him as her Hand - Aegon Targaryen put his trust in the proper people.

Only two seemed to be put off by the demand. Sansa was quiet, a guarded expression walling her off from the others. It drew irritation in Daenerys - she would have been angry had everything at that moment not felt like a dream - but Jon didn't even spare her a glance. On the other hand, Varys cleared his throat, disappointment evident. "Perhaps we should wait for the coronation as Lord Lannister proffered. It would serve as a unifying factor for all of Westeros to see the Dragonwolf and Mother of Dragons to wed and be crowned…"

"They'll already get that with the coronation, Lord Varys," Davos shot back. "They're just kids. Twenty and three - they deserve a fookin' moment to themselves before all their major moments become public and ceremonial." _Someone has to fight for Jon and Daenerys, not the King and Queen._

Varys did not give up, resisting the urge to glance at Lady Sansa. Would not be wise to involve her in his fight. "That may be so, but it would signal a rapprochement with the Faith of the Seven. Public wedding with the High Septon officiating would go a long way."

He had a point, but so did Jon. "The Faith of the Seven will be glad we deposed of the Mad Queen that destroyed the Sept of Baelor." Pulling Dany to his side, he kissed her forehead. Hearing her sigh with happiness. "As for our wedding, my Queen wills it to be tomorrow. And tomorrow it shall be." The Master of Whisperers failed to respond. "Alright, if that's all, I'll bid all of you a good night. We'll announce our Queen's arrival to the army in the morning."

Missandei spoke up before anyone else could, cutting them off. "Do enjoy your evening, your Graces." _Better stay far away from the royal tent if anyone wishes to sleep._

As they began to leave, Daenerys felt a hand on her arm. "Your grace…" It was Sansa. "I wasn't able to say this before the meeting started." Of course you didn't. "But from the bottom of my heart, I'm happy to see you safe and with my brother." A smile formed on her face.

Daenerys smiled back, hers just as obviously phony as the redhead's. "Thank you, Lady Stark." _You won't tear us apart this time, greedy bitch._ She could see the flash of… likely insincerity and bitterness in the Wardeness of the North's eyes. "Your words are most appreciated."

Luckily for both of them, Jon cut in. "We'll talk in the morning, sister." A gentle kiss to her cheek and Jon then escorted Daenerys out, leaving a rather obvious ice chilling the entire tent.

* * *

"Dispatch from King's Landing, sire."

Snatching the crumpled, wet piece of parchment from his first mate, Euron Greyjoy narrowed his eyes to read the faded scribbles. Crafty and intelligent as he was, Euron was never the best reader - and his writing was atrocious - always a source of mockery from Balon, but he was here and his older brother was being eaten by crabs.

Already was he at sea, somewhere off the coast from Massey's Hook. Always better to be away from land - with the enemy waiting in the air, at least out at sea he could spread out his forces.

Once he realized what Qyburn was telling him, a barking, cackling laughter erupted from his lips. Forced to lean against the bulkheads out of mirth.

"Sire?" asked the junior officer - one of his longtime veterans that he trusted enough to keep his tongue aboard the Silence.

"Oh those stupid fucks…" Euron wiped his eyes, controlling his laughter. "The Golden Company was annihilated by the Northern Bastard. Apparently his fucking dragon was more under his control than they all thought."

The officer looked at him with barely disguised fear. "But sire, without the ground forces King's Landing could fall within…"

He couldn't finish before Euron punched him in the face. "You stupid cunt. Am I the only one here capable of thinking?" Apparently he was - good as his trusted officers were, only Euron Greyjoy could devise actual strategy beyond surprise attacks. "The Realm needs savin' from the evil dragonlords. A savin' that they would even turn to a fuckin' crew of reavin' and rapin' pirates from the salt crags of Pyke to do it. Anything before King's fucking Landing is burned to a crisp."

"But sire, we wouldn't know if the Stark bastard would burn the capitol…"

The same cackling laughter interrupted the officer, still sprawled on the floor of the cabin. "Oh my dear first mate," Euron smirked. Gone was the bravado, the gregariousness. Upon the great Euron Greyjoy was something only his most trusted men saw - the real King of the Iron Islands. The schemer, the ruthless cunning that dwelled within his mind. A cunning that kept him alive for his years in exile, that brought him here to the pinnacle of what a lowly salt Lord's third son could only dream of. "Men are fools if they think themselves lucky. A true man makes his own luck." There was silence. Delicious silence. "If there doesn't exist a dragon that would burn King's Landing, then let us make one exist."

* * *

No sooner did the tent flap shut were the two pressed up against each other. Locked in a tight embrace and passionate kiss. Hands roaming. Tongues dueling. Souls reconnecting. "You… tomorrow…" Jon was having trouble thinking, the tiny, fiery form of his intended working at the ropey muscles of his neck.

Dany smiled against his skin, hands tangled in his wild curls. "Yes, tomorrow."

Jon yanked her head back, crashing their lips back together. "Why… why tomorrow?" he mumbled between devouring her mouth.

"Mmmmmm…" Her body was alight as he groped her all over. Possessive over what he loved. _He loves me…_ "Can't wait… to be your wife. Can't… wait to have you either."

"As you wish." The King growled, pushing her back to strip her. Desperate to see the mother of dragons bare to him.

His fingers were all over her, brows furrowed and lips pursed in concentration as they slowly and reverently attacked the laces and buttons holding her riding blouse and trousers in place. It felt surreal to Daenerys, able to see his utterly handsome face. "Oh Jon…" she groaned, spurring him on with her breathy, lustful pleas. Hands that had only days before brought death and spilled the blood of their enemies upon the dusty soil of the Dusken River now ever so gentle upon her body. Ghosting across her skin with a scorching heat. _Aegon Targaryen._

A pull of the strings caused the trousers to fall to the ground, exposing Dany's slender, pale legs. Without hesitation, Jon ripped off her riding top, leaving the gorgeous Queen - _his_ gorgeous Queen - bare to him. Utterly and completely bare. He growled, wolfishly attacking her neck. Left hand weaving in her riding braid while the other darted for her sopping wet cunt. "Mine." The hiss came as he sucked and laved at her alabaster neck. "Mine forever, Daenerys." He pushed two fingers deep inside her, rocking against her sweet spot. "We will never be apart again."

"Jon…" she moaned deliriously. The pleasure she had long missed finally returning. Her able to unabashedly indulge in it. Revel in it. Bathe in it. Letting her neck fall to the side to expose more of her skin to him, Jon responding by yanking harder. Forcing her hair to come apart in his hands. Jon personally let her hair loose from its braids on the boat, and Dany loved it then as she loved it now. "Never… I'm… yours… and you… are mine." Daenerys yelped, eyes nearly rolling in the back of her head as he dipped to suck down her neck, shoulder, and chest. Worshipping her skin. "Don't stop."

Sucking a rose tip into his mouth, Jon growled again - a sound far deeper than that of a wolf. "Never." He curled his fingers inside of her, earning a muffled scream. Guiding her to a stout wooden pole that held the tent up. Bracing her back. "They will never take you from me."

Hand weaving into his hair, Dany pulled to see his eyes. Feeling a rush of wetness at the grey storms inside. At the ring of pure violet that suddenly appeared. "Never. I dare… fuck, Jon… them to try… ahhhhh!" Her King's curling fingers were bringing her close to shatter.

Jon felt the heat surging inside of him with each beat of his heart. "They will all burn!" Releasing her nipples, his hand yanked both of hers and pinned them to the thick wood above her head. Mouth by her ear. "I will see them burn," he hissed with all the savagery of a wildling berserker - of a dragon. "Fire and blood to any that harms you!"

"Fire… and blood…" Her climax was upon her. Forcing out a name… his true name. "_Aegon. Aegon… AEGON!_" Daenerys' thunderous climax was silenced by a forceful tongue crashing against her lips. Movements which she returned, frantically riding out the amazing pleasure he had given her. Screaming into his mouth at finally being able to enjoy him with her. _Inside her._

But it was not enough. Not nearly enough to banish the thoughts of the Black Cells. Of the aftermath of the last time she felt this pleasure - the sadness and anger, anger at Jon. The man she loved and father of her unborn babes. _Her_ King.

Fingers stilling inside her, Jon held her close. Fingers ghosting over her trembling back. It was cold outside, but the passion of their dragon blood warmed the tent considerably. "Daenerys… Aegon?" The question was on his lips.

A chuckle left hers, deep and husky. Stoking his fire ever higher. "Yes, my King. Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of his Name." She pulled back slightly, face triumphant - daring him to challenge her. "It is your name."

"It is…" Jon gulped, feeling the moisture leave his mouth. "Please, _say it again._"

"Oh? And why?" Dany reached down to palm his crotch. Enjoying his groan. Leaning to his ear. "Does it do something to you, _Aegon_?" Tongue licked the shell of his ear.

He bucked into her hips as a result.

Dany reached out, cupping Jon's cheek and rubbing her thumb against the prickly skin. Gesture loving and sweet, but the two dragons could feel the ripple of searing heat building between them. A hungry lusting for the other that went beyond mere desire - almost a sort of primal need that required satisfaction. Raging dragonfire that needed the torrent of release to dampen, to temper. Daenerys' hand drifted to run along the collar of his tunic. "You wear too many clothes, _my King_."

Now, it was his turn to wake the dragon. "And what will you do about it, _my Queen_?" With a roar more trademark of Drogon than Daenerys, she shoved him towards the camp bed. Tearing the tunic and trousers off his body. Caring little at any rips or tears that may have happened… not as if either could hear over the hungry kiss she roped him into. The distance was short, but she was insistent. Monarchs tumbling onto the bed both naked as the day they were born.

Rolling frantically on the bed, their kiss never stopped. Neither willing to break their tight embrace, a tiny voice beneath the lust and need afraid that if they let go, the other would disappear - everything simply a wonderful dream. "I'm ready, Aegon. Don't make me wait.

The way she said his name set a savage beast alive inside Jon. Grey and violet swirling in his eyes so dark as to be near black. "My dragon." His voice was half hiss, half snarl, cockhead finding her opening. "Mother of my children." Without warning he thrust inside her, battering through the last wall keeping them apart. Finding his way home.

"Ahhhhh." Stretching her walls, Daenerys felt utter bliss. This was it. What she dreamed of every night in the Black Cells. Then it was torture, but now in the reality of his arms and his touch, Daenerys truly felt heaven. "Mine," Daenerys husked, voice possessive. "Only mine. Mine to love, Aegon."

"Say it again!" Jon growled, starting to rock into her.

"_Aegon. Aegon… ñuha jorrāelagon_."

So forbidden, so frowned upon… T_argaryens answer to neither gods nor men._ Fucking his aunt, belly full with their babes, he truly felt his dragonblood burn inside him. "My dragon. My dragon. My dragon," he kept chanting like a prayer. Claiming her.

The bliss was perfect. Clouding her mind, overwhelming Daenerys until nothing was left but moans, pleasure, and random high Vlayrian. _"Gaomagon jāre!"_ Only him… it had only ever been him. Drogo uncaring, Daario selfish and flashy. Mouth dropping to her neck, angling to slam his length against a sensitive spot inside her, only Jon truly wanted her. Wanted her pleasure as much as his own. _"Qogralbar nyke qopsa, Aegon."_

Her high Valyrian, it made her ever so exotic. Delicious. _My mother tongue_. He knew enough of her tone to gather the gist of it. "Mine to protect. Mine to wed, _ñuha jorrāelagon_." A phrase he had heard before, and had Missandei translate for him.

"Fuck, _Aegon_." The Valyrian in his northern accent… "More! Harder!" Dany's nails raked his back, drawing blood. _"Dāez se zaldrīzes! Dāez se zaldrīzes!"_ Her begging was answered as he bit hard on her neck. Ravenous. Perfect. "_Aegon!_"

Jon was beyond words. Seeing only red… and her. Needing to defile her. Mark her. Claim her until she was a babbling mess, ruined for any other men. She tightened around him, Jon drawing on all his strength and endurance to pound through her clenched cunt. Harder. Harder. Harder…_ Fuck…_

_"AEGON!"_ It was no use holding on, Daenerys hurtling over the edge as she felt him explode inside her. Jon continuing to thrust through their shared climax, lips finding each other. Tongues grounding their pleasure against the other. It lasted what seemed like both an instant and hours - when over, Jon collapsed onto her, both groaning as the aftershocks trembled through them.

The once noisy room descended into silence. Pierced only by their deep breaths and pants, both dragons coming down from their high. "Gods…" Dany murmured.

"Aye," Jon whispered back. "I love you."

"I love you too." Dany ran her hands down his back, stroking the gouges her nails had left there. Marveling at the superheated skin. "I should have known that you were of Targaryen blood, my love."

An eyebrow rose. "Oh? And why is that?" Jon pulled out of her, causing Dany to wince.

She brushed her fingers along his cock, wet with his seed and her juices. "So passionate. So fierce. So… dominant in the bedroom." Dany bit her lip, smirking sultrily at him. "You fuck like a dragon."

"Not a wolf?" Jon laughed. "I think I took you like a wolf during the boatride." They were not rulers in that moment, but young lovers - wrapped around each other's bodies. It was… perfect.

"That too, though," Dany's smirk widened, batting her eyes coquettishly. "I think we need to make love more in order to differentiate the two." His weight upon her, hard muscles and heated skin pressing down in a comforting blanket, Daenerys sighed. Kissing a tiny scar adorning his shoulder. "Gods. I can't believe you're mine, Jon."

Smiling, heart finally at peace, Jon leaned down to kiss her lips. "So it's 'Jon' now?"

Daenerys laughed. "Jon, Aegon. Both are your names, both equal halves of the rightful King. And I happen to love both of them very much." Arms reaching above her head, stretching languidly as her body was able to relax - to calm and let go of the tension - for the first time in months, Daenerys didn't feel Jon leaving the tight embrace till his head disappeared under the furs. "My love, what are you…" A gasp left her lips as she felt his upon her abdomen.

Jon left feather light kisses upon the pale skin, drawing back to stare at the slight swell in wonder. Hands cupping it reverently. "I love you, little dragons," he breathed. "Your father will never let anything happen to you. Let anyone hurt you or your mother. You will always have me, my sweetlings." Another kiss upon the bump nestling their babies and he shifted back to Daenerys… who's eyes were brimming with tears. "Dany?"

She grabbed onto him. Burying her face into the heated skin of the crook of his neck. "You…" Both of them felt her tears starting to stain his shoulder. "You've given me everything."

"No I…" He was silenced with a smack to the chest.

"Don't speak little of yourself, my King." Daenerys pulled back, gazing into his eyes. "You've given me love, given me the Seven Kingdoms, given…" Grabbing his hand, she brought it back to the bump on her stomach. "Given me a womb swelling with children, _our children_. I will spend eternity showing you just how perfect you really are."

Rolling onto his side, Jon pulled her tightly against his front. Fingers softly stroking her hair. "Daenerys, you tell me to speak ill of myself, yet…" He kissed the hollow of her neck, coaxing out a deep moan. "Gods, you are the Mother of Dragons. The Breaker of Chains. I brought the wildings south of the wall, but you freed the slaves of the east. I vanquished our foes at the Dusken, you did at the Goldroad. I united the North, you united the south and the east. I killed the Night King… we would have all been corpses if not for you."

"Jon…" she gasped, love for him growing more and more.

He took both of her hands in his, clasping them all together. "I'm not a bloody poet, but perhaps… our greatness, we were meant to be. Blood of my blood."

Dany giggled through happy tears - only for Jon would she be so vulnerable and carefree. "You could be a poet if you want, _Aegon Targaryen_."

Jon's eyes darkened. "You know what that does to me, my Queen."

Pouncing, grabbing his hands and pinning them, Daenerys reveled in how he stared wantonly at her bare chest. Unabashed in his lust. "A King must please his Queen, _Aegon Targaryen_." Slowly, she felt him slip inside her once more. "Mmmmmm, _blood of my blood._"

**A/N: ****I think I carried away a bit on the last part, lol. Hope y'all liked.**

**These are all the moments that should have been in season 8. Kit and Emilia would have aced all of them.**

**Added a history between Dany and Ghost (fuck you D&D). They also reclaimed a little of their happiness from Cersei.**

**Daenerys immediately takes charge alongside Jon even before the vast majority of their army even knows she's there. Dragon Queen is back!**

**Euron is his own warning.**

**Translations:**

**ñuha jorrāelagon = my love**

**vēzos qēlossās ñuho = my sun and stars**

**gaomagon jāre = keep going**

**qogralbar nyke qopsa = fuck me hard**

**dāez se zaldrīzes = free the dragon**

**Next time, wedding bells are ringing :D**


	13. Ch 13: A Dragon's Vow

**A/N: ****Hey all! Wedding bells are ringing!**

**Good news! My Rhaegar/Lyanna story has finally been published! It's called My Father's Son! Everyone be sure to check it out! :D**

**Leave a comment.**

Chapter 13: A Dragon's Vow

It was an awe-inspiring sight. By the orders passed down from the highest echelons of the Targaryen small council, every single soldier in the army had assembled on the flood plain of the Dusken. Sunlight glinted off the sparkling river behind and the steel breastplates and helmets of the soldiers. Northern swordsmen, Dornish levies, Vale knights, Riverlander and Reach men-at-arms, Dothraki screamers, Free Folk warriors, Unsullied hoplites, all stood shock still. Waiting for something, anything. An event worthy of the spectacle.

At the van, guarded by the green dragon Rhaegal himself - men had taken to calling him the "King's Fury" after the Battle of the Dusken, in contrast to Drogon's "Black Dread Reborn" - were the men of the Westerlands. Bedecked in full armor plate and finery, but missing their weapons. A steely-eyed Grey Worm refusing to hand them over, while Lyle Crakehall only nodded in understanding. Perhaps after today the King would grant him his… if grudging… trust.

Atop a dias stood the Small Council - also in their finery rather than the utilitarian garb of battle and field living. Tyrion Lannister in his red-gold doublet. The Lady Missandei in a colorful dress in the style of King's Landing, if less flowery and more form-fitting. Varys, Master of Whisperers, in his customary silk robes. Howland Reed in his leather armor, standing as straight as he could. Davos Seaworth, Hand of the King, wearing simple but impeccable cotton. And Sansa Stark, in the dark gray battledress of the North. Fire-kissed red hair pulled back in a half-bun. They made for a powerful display… only bolstered by the massive dragon behind them.

And then he arrived. Dressed in exactly the same way as he had been arriving to the camp from Dragonstone. Longclaw - the lightbringer - clipped to his side, followed by his faithful direwolf. But Ghost wasn't all that accompanied the King. Right next to him was a glowing beauty. Silver hair styled into an unbroken braid, lithe form fit into armor of her own, dark and adorned with red-black plate and the Targaryen seal. She strode with purpose. With fire. With power.

King Aegon and Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen. The Dragon monarchs.

One by one, the King and Queen greeted their small council. Affection and smiles for Davos and Missandei while Sansa and Varys merely got cursory nods. Icy ones. But the most insistent to greet the monarchs was Rhaegal. Head darting into the platform to reunite with his long-lost mother."

Snout lowered close to her, the mighty King's fury emitted a mewling sound. One more akin to a dog seeking the affection of its mother rather than the great beast that burned away thousands. Exhaling hot breath and nudging the tiny Valyrian beauty. Dany, for her part, fought back tears at meeting her gentlest son. "Oh, Rhaegal," she cooed, hugging his head. _Muna_ is here."

Feet bringing him level with his dragon's eye, Jon stroked his brow, smiling softly. "She'd come back, boy. With your little brother and sister."

Another snort, eyes lighting up at the confirmation of what his nose could sense. Rhaegal nudged Daenerys again, this time gentle against her abdomen. "Yes, my darling. Your siblings are in there." An image of her son tucked in with her on Drogon and her daughter the same with Jon on Rhaegal brought her nothing but happiness. "I love you, my darling. I'm never going away." Green scales hot underneath her soothing touch, Rhaegal hooted softly - though such was still quite loud - feeling far more content than he had in months.

Turning to face the gathered army, Daenerys' eyes settled on the banners of the Westerlands. The boar of Crakehall, the fire tree of Ashmark, the seashells of Crag… and the lion of Casterly Rock. All banners that had been determined to kill her for years - that had kept her and her children locked up for months. Eyes darkening, Dany felt her rage build up…

Until Jon placed a hand on her shoulder. Letting the anger waft from her, until it was replaced by calm. By love.

Sensing all of this, Lyle Crakehall knew what he had to do. "Men! The rightful Queen is before us!" As they did for King Aegon, like a wave each of the thousands of Westermen fell to their bended knee. Swearing allegiance in perpetuity to Queen Daenerys.

_"They will learn to see you as I do."_

Jon's words from Eastwatch still affected her. Still kept Daenerys going through the darkest of times - where she struggled with the thought that fear would overcome love. Both were needed, but she wasn't about to become her father. There was no way Dany would let it happen.

Wordlessly, she stepped forward. Head held high. A true conqueror. A true dragon, just like her King.

_"It should be you that does it, my love," Dany told him, the both of them cuddled close after a round of tender lovemaking. "You are the King."_

_Jon grinned softly, kissing her. "They've already seen me on Rhaegal. It needs to be you." He stared into her violet eyes, seeing the love and trust reflected in them. "The armies of Westeros must see you as their mighty Queen, not a foreign invader or weak captive."_

_She loved him so much, it threatened to consume her. "But what shall I say?"_

_"I don't know." His grin widened. "I'm not a bloody poet." Laughing with him, Dany had taken that moment to pounce on Jon with a flash of lust and desire._

Taking a deep breath, Daenerys readied herself. "Gathered armies of Westeros!" she thundered, voice booming like a dragon's roar across the plains. "To most I need no introduction, but to some that do not already know, I am Daenerys Targaryen. Daughter of Aerys and Rhaella Targaryen. Wife of Aegon Targaryen, and Queen of Westeros!

"I was not raised in this land, but it is my home. My birthplace, where I fought and bled alongside my beloved husband to protect it from death itself. To bring the dawn and usher in a new era of peace. From Dorne to the Wall. From Astapor to Lannisport, only with the aid of you did this succeed. Did we arrive on the cusp of the final victory, to build a new world better than the one you all knew for generations past.

"But there is one fight remaining. The form of Cersei Lannister, so-called Queen. Queen of what, I do not know? Of ashes, of starvation, of cold-blooded murder and destruction? Many before you fought for her. Fought for her family. I come here before you not to demand obedience, but to pledge my fealty to you. To all of you standing before us."

So used to tyrants, to authoritarian lords and ladies raping and plundering them all, the entire army stared in wonder. A monarch, someone as powerful as the Dragon King and Queen swearing fealty to them?!

"As Queen. As King, Aegon and I fight for you. Protect you, all of you. All the citizens of Westeros and beyond. And so I ask you. Do you fight with us? Fight with your King and Queen, with House Targaryen as free men? Ready to complete our fight and end the reign of tyrants like Cersei Lannister for good?!"

It started with the Free Folk. No one knew which one of them cheered the first - all of them viewed Jon as a sort of god after his resurrection and Dany the same after the Long Night. But soon it spread to all of them, and then across the entire waves of the assembled soldiers. Infecting all except the Westerlanders - who stood silent - and the Unsullied - who merely banged their spears against the ground as they had outside Astapor.

The noise drowned out even the roar of Rhaegal. "DRAGON KING! DRAGON QUEEN! DRAGON KING! DRAGON QUEEN! DRAGON KING! DRAGON QUEEN!"

* * *

A light snowfall was falling upon the copse of trees a mile out from the camp. While a weather disaster for the Crownlands, it didn't faze the two northerners standing together. Taking advantage of the moment alone to speak candidly. "I hate weddings."

Jon gave his sister a look of understanding. "Aye, I know." He placed his hand on her shoulder, glad when Sansa didn't shake it off. "I'm sorry."

She shivered underneath her dark grey dress, though not from the cold. "Don't be sorry, Jon. What happened happened." Sansa closed her eyes, sighing. "I wish that I could have stayed that stupid girl, carefree with her dreams of lords and knights in Winterfell, but at least something good came out of the shit. That I could be the strong woman my family needed in this time."

"Still. I am sorry."

You are the one person who has no apology in this - two people if you include your bride." They had some time before the first of Jon and Daenerys' advisors would be upon them for the small ceremony. While their masks were icy and dark, their hushed whispers were as warm as the subject of conversation could allow it to be. "You saved me from Ramsay, and defeated him. Even after I was such an ass to you."

"You're my blood. For my siblings, my children, and Daenerys, I'd do anything."

Sansa smiled softly at him. "For what it's worth, I'm happy for you, Jon. One person among our family should find some joy." He smiled back, grateful.

It was at that point the procession of advisors began into the clearing, feet scuffling on the light carpet of snow on the ground. Smiles falling, Sansa gave Jon an expressionless glare, curtseying. "Your Grace."

"Lady Stark," he replied. Straightening the blood red cloak of House Targaryen on his shoulders, clad in his armor underneath, Jon nodded to the septon who moved past him. An older man, gaunt but kind, he saw both he and Dany as close to messiahs as he would ever bear witness upon. Brought by the Seven to bring peace and prosperity to Westeros. His eyes scanned the few gathered advisors - watched over by Daenerys' bloodriders, Unsullied, and loyal Free Folk warriors - taking in their smiles…

And then he saw her - and his heart stopped.

Much the same reaction came from Daenerys. A hitch in her breath as she spotted Jon. Warmth flooded underneath her thick, form-fitting white dress. Snow sprinkling atop her black cloak. The very embodiment of Ice and Fire, Old Valyria and the True North - but her face was not of a Queen. Instead it was of a woman in love. Complete and total love for her handsome dragonwolf, smile bright and genuine as Ser Davos led her to the King.

_Gods, she is breathtaking._ Jon had to force himself to breathe, enchanted by the Valyrian goddess he was about to marry. Feeling her smile mirrored on his lips as she arrived so close to him. Able to see the sparkle in her violet eyes. Nothing and no one else mattered to Jon that moment, only her. Only Daenerys.

Clearing his throat, the old septon looked upon each of the monarchs before him. "Who comes before the gods tonight?"

"Daenerys of House Targaryen," Davos began, smile widening as he noticed the bride's eyes remained fully locked on the groom - and his on hers. "Rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. A woman of age and true of birth."

"Who gives her away?"

"Ser Davos Seaworth, Hand to the King and Queen."

"Who prepares to claim her?"

Nothing could dampen the joy Jon was feeling that night. "Aegon of House Targaryen, rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms." Reaching out his hand, Jon beamed as Dany disengaged from Davos to take his. While he had been looking forward to seeing her in a veil, Jon was delighted now that she had forgoed one - the King able to see into her deep violet eyes. Gaze upon her beautiful face and loving smile.

Daenerys fought to keep a regal demeanor - fought the urge to swoon from excitement and love. _Jon. My Jon. My husband… husband…_ It was like a dream. "You may now cloak the bride," she heard the Septon drone, "and bring her under your protection." Turning, Dany shivered with desire as Jon's warm fingers brushed her bare neck, removing her black cloak. They were of the same House, so it felt redundant, but Jon followed the practice to the letter. Off went her Targaryen cloak, on came his, while Jon just threw her cloak around his own shoulders to snickers from their audience.

One little sign of defiance, of the authority of a dragon over all others. Truth be told, it set Daenerys alight as she turned to gaze upon Jon's grey eyes once more.

"My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."

Jon grabbed Dany's hand, holding the smooth digits tightly. Surging with power and energy from their connection. He felt her thumb gently caress his scarred palm, wanting so badly to kiss her. It was torture, being so close yet so far at the same time. _How did I live without this goddess for so long?_ One of the mysteries of life, he supposed - squeezing her hand, hoping she understood the message. She squeezed back, telling him she did.

The septon slowly took the ribbon, tying it around their joined hands. Literally tying the knot that would seal their marriage. "Let it be known that Aegon of House Targaryen and Daenerys of House Targaryen are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder." _Cursed with fire and blood._ Everyone present knew both the bride and groom would burn the world with their dragons for each other. "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity."

Both of them couldn't help the flood of electricity at these words. It may have been official only now, but the truth was they had already been sealed and bound long ago. The pain each felt when either Daenerys or Jon tried to deny such only confirmed it. Now, they refused to deny it ever again, leaving only the purest of pleasure.

"Look upon each other and say the words."

The moment of truth. Turning at the septon's command, Daenerys was faced with the brilliant sparkles in Jon's grey eyes. Already forming a vibrant violet from the love and emotion swirling within him. _Love comes in at the eyes._ Her smile wider than ever before, Dany allowed his love to enter her. Bearing her heart and soul completely to this man. The feeling utterly amazing.

Jon and Daenerys spoke simultaneously. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger..."

"I am hers…"

"I am his…"

"And she is mine…"

"And he is mine…"

"From this day, until the end of my days." No truer words could ever be spoken. Nothing would ever sunder this marriage - one of the woman that emerged from a burning pyre with dragons and of the man who faced the shroud of death itself and emerged victorious. Be it received with delight or apprehension, no force on earth or heaven could ever tear Jon and Deaenerys apart.

Watching as she was practically giggling with love and devotion - a light in her eyes that he had never seen before but vowed to give her until his last breath - Jon began to recite the words he had longed to say since the beginning. "With this kiss, I pledge my love…" He had barely finished the last word when Daenerys threw her unbound hand around his neck and pulled him down, kissing him with all the passion of a dragon in love. Not complaining in the slightest, he did the same.

Davos clapped, as did Grey Worm. Tyrion raised his hand in a mock toast, while Missandei pumped her fists in the air. Tormund bellowed his approval with a loud whoop. Howland just beamed, hoping Ned, Rhaegar, and Lyanna were enjoying this moment from the great beyond. Even Sansa let a small smile slip as she clapped.

But one among the watchers couldn't even force himself to smile. Clapping politely, his ruddy eyes bore no joy. Just hope, hope that the next day would bring deliverance.

* * *

"Don't drop me," Dany whispered, arms looped around Jon's neck. "You wouldn't want the woman carrying your babes to fall."

Jon chuckled, kissing her on the lips. Teasing her with a swipe of his tongue. "Are you saying I'm not up to the task, my dragon?" Even full with their children, Jon hefted Daenerys bridal style in his arms effortlessly.

Daenerys already felt herself getting wet at the show of strength. "You are up for the task, husband." _Husband._ Dany was overjoyed at that simple fact. "Oh gods, I love you so. My husband, my King." There was no better feeling than being in her new husband's arms – well, after having him inside her. She grinned, aroused beyond belief. But Dany kept silent as Jon hefted her into the tent. Simply gazing at his handsome face.

"There we go." He set her down with a gentleness only seen with her. With others Jon was brooding, distant… utterly ruthless. But with her, Dany bore witness to the kindest and most loving man in existence. She felt so special, the lucky recipient of the greatest gift. "I love you too, my wife." A sad frown appeared on his face.

Distressed, Dany cupped his cheek. "Jon, what's wrong?" Why must this beautiful man suffer so.

"I'm sorry, Dany…" He looked away. "I wish it wasn't this way. All the war and violence and death. So much suffering, no peace. I can't even give the woman I love a safe home…"

"Hey, hey." Guiding his eyes back to hers, Daenerys embraced him. Softly kissing his chin. "I don't need anywhere to be home. You are my home, Aegon Targaryen." She let her head rest on his chest. "You make me feel safe."

Jon breathed in her calming scent, kissing the crown of her silver hair. Caressing the swell of their babes. "When Cersei is dead and the war is won, I'll take you to Dragonstone. Give you the calm and peace you deserve."

"Shhh, all I need is you, my dragon. All I need is you." Desperate for him, Dany greedily pressed her lips against hers. The kiss grew heate, the inner dragon woken inside them both. "Gods_ Aegon_," she growled against his lips. "Fuck your wife. Don't make me wait any longer."

Growling, Jon pushed her backwards towards their camp bed. Hands roaming across her delicious curves. Making her growl back. Lust beginning to consume them. "Mine, Daenerys." Her legs hit the side of the bed. "Belong to me."

"Yes…" she gasped, his teeth and tongue blazing down her neck. "Yours, nephew. All yours."

Only months before, the reference to shared blood would have driven him away, but the dragon blood hot in his veins only ignited a further fire within Jon. Grabbing her breasts through the dress. Mauling them as he kissed her savagely. Felt her hands dig into his back - pulling at his gorget and leathers.

Dany needed him. She needed to feel him. Nimble fingers working around hooks and yanking at laces. Mewling happily against his tongue when his bare skin came into contact. "You are beautiful, husband." Daenerys' voice hoarse with lust and love.

Moving to rip off her dress, something came to Jon's mind. I almost forgot. He pulled away, leaving her breathless on the bed.

"Jon…" Daenerys gaped at him incredulously. "Get back here!" she shouted, watching her sexy husband drift away towards a chest in the corner of the tent. "Pleasure your wife, Aegon Targaryen." Gods, he was torturing her, looking like that - bare chest and hair falling atop his shoulders in raven curls. Her own dark-haired Targaryen warrior king.

"One moment, my Queen," he called out, grinning. Out of the chest, Jon pulled a long bundle wrapped in a red cloth. "I still need to give you your wedding present."

Flushed from their passion, pouting slightly at having to wait, Dany nevertheless stood and walked over to him. Intrigued and curious over what he could have gotten her that necessitated interrupting their lovemaking. _Jon would unleash Rhaegal on anyone that tries to keep him from me._

He set the bundle down on his desk, bidding Dany to unwrap it. "Bran found it, with his greensight. Sansa had riders go on the double to retrieve it from north of the wall to bring it for me."

"North of the wall?" Now she was very curious, eyebrow raised and looking on him suspiciously before finally pulling away the wrapping. Her eyes widened. A sword? Not any sword, for the Queen recognized the Valyrian steel immediately. Daenerys reached down to the ruby encrusted cross-guard, running her fingers down the grip to the flamed pommel. _This is familiar…_ It dawned on Daenerys, the Queen gasping. Looking at Jon with utter shock. "Dark Sister."

Jon nodded, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "The sword of Visenya Targaryen. Lost with the Bloodraven north of the Wall long ago. Now it's yours, my love."

Daenerys grabbed the sword, light in hand. "No, Jon. You're the head of our house…"

"I have a sword, Dany. The one that brought the dawn." He pushed until the sword was firmly in Dany's hands. "I want you to have it."

"I don't know how to wield a sword…" she murmured, quiet.

He shrugged. "Nothing that can't be taught." A smirk graced his lips for a moment, imagining teaching his beloved. "You are a Targaryen conqueror as much as I am, Daenerys. It's only fitting that you have the sword to complete the look."

Eyes watering, Daenerys couldn't believe this man. Every time she thought she loved him, he went out of his way to prove she could love him even more. Setting Dark Sister - now hers - on the desk, she walked to Jon and kissed him sweetly. Pulling away before he could deepen it. "Wait," Dany said gently, walking to the bed.

Jon looked at her hungrily, watching as she shimmied out of her dress. Breath hitching at the lack of smallclothes. "Gods, Dany…"

Daenerys smirked over her shoulder, climbing on the bed on all fours. Wiggling her ass at him. "Take me from behind, my King."

Worried eyes found hers. "Dany…" Since they became lovers, Daenerys never allowed him in that position. Jon knew why - the Dothraki rapist took her that way. At her first fearful gaze, he never tried again. "Are you sure?"

Seeing him so concerned for her well-being made Dany swell with love for him. "It's you, Jon. I'm always safe with you. Please give me good memories." Another wiggle and he was on the bed, trousers stripped away.

She had made him so impossibly hard. Teasing her wetness with the thick head, making her moan. Rocking back into him. Jon grabbed her hips, fingertips brushing against impossibly soft and delectable skin. "Dany, tell me you want this." His voice was low, clouded with lust.

"Gods, Aegon." Dany was getting quite impatient. "Fuck your bride. I command it!" At her demand, she suddenly gasped. Jon's tongue swiping through her folds. His amazing tongue. "Seven hells… _tolī. tepagon nyke tolī!_"

The King never stopped. There was no way he could stop, needing her. Needing to devour and taste every bit of her. Insistent hands pulled her cheeks apart, exposing every bit of her cunt to his tongue. Feeling his face soaking with her juices, burying deep inside her.

Daenerys was in heaven. Biting her lip at how amazing Jon was making her feel - not even fucking her yet. "_Valzȳrys…_" she moaned breathlessly. Gushing thanks to him… her husband… _fuck, my husband..._ A scream left her as he found her clit, fingers stroking it. "_Kessa. Kessa. Kessa!"_ The pressure deep in her belly snapping, flood of wetness leaving her as Daenerys wailed her climax. Coating his tongue with her juices.

Jon smacked his lips, licking up all she gave him. "You're delicious, my dragon."

"Aegon…" Dany murmured, close to spent. Yelping suddenly when Jon bit her ass.

His tongue soothed the red bite mark. "Not sorry," Jon chuckled, sitting up on his knees behind her. Watching his bride flushed red, smooth skin covered in a sheen of sweat. Silver braids sparkling in the low firelight of the braziers. Fire surging within him, Jon grabbed Dany's hips, pushing into her channel all the way to the hilt.

"Oh Gods!" Dany screamed. He was so big, so full inside her. Her mouth opened but nothing came out, just a silent gasp. Eyes rolling back in her head as he grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, rutting deep to her womb itself.

Relentless, Jon kept one hand on her hip while the other pulled her hair apart. Wanting it loose, silver locks spread out over her back haphazardly like a wanton whore. "Say you love it!" he growled. Jon had to hear her beg for him. "Say you want it!"

"I love it! I want it!" Her head crashed into the pillows, the goose down muffling her scream. Jon's hands were gripping her hips tight enough to leave bruises. Often wandering to smack her ass, knead her breasts, ghost down her spine. "Mine! You're mine!" she snarled like a dragon between moans. Fire welling up deep inside her for the second time that day." No… one… fuck… else… _Aegon!_"

"No one," Jon grunted, pounding her hard. Wanting her to cum. Needing her release. "I am yours, my Queen."

That did it. _"Aegon…!"_ Howling his name, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms shattered around Jon's length. Several thrusts later, he followed, falling atop her back and muffling his own grunts into her shoulder. Biting the skin there. Continuing to pound through her climax, causing Dany to howl again.

She hissed as he pulled out, their bodies falling from their high - Daenerys never felt anything like him inside her, so full and wonderful. Utterly loved. Having climaxed twice, far from tiring her they set her alight. Woke the dragon. She flipped onto her back only to see him hovering over her. Eyes dark with lust. Surging forth to kiss her deeply. "My warrior queen," Jon mumbled into her lips, making Dany hunger for him yet again. Legs wrapped around his waist. Flipping them over.

Jon gazed up at his Queen, a smirk on her lips before she pounced. Biting his chest and licking his scars. "My conqueror."

Neither of the newlyweds would get any sleep that night. Neither could be bothered to care.

* * *

The soft waves of Blackwater Bay washed onto the sandy beach of the cove - one of the few places on Dragonstone that weren't hemmed with sharp cliffs and steep underwater plunges. Off over a mile away was the docks, while this secluded wonder was overlooked by the great spires of the castle. Where Aegon the Conqueror had spent many a quiet night enjoying an evening frolic with his beloved Rhaenys, or bonded with his fearsome Visenya. The refuge of Targaryen Kings and princes for generations.

Drogon yawned, chest rumbling as he shifted on the soft sand. Another day alone, wallowing in the impromptu nest of whale skeletons he had plucked from the ocean. Perhaps he would flap over to the cliffs, perhaps he would stay here… didn't matter. Without his mother, what was the point?

The Black Dread Reborn had lost all hope.

Suddenly his eyes flew open, grunt leaving his mouth. There, not fifty feet away, was a solitary figure. Hands out and eyes wide in a crazed mania. Drogon hooted angrily, but the man only extended his arms parallel to the ground. "Good morning, beautiful beast. Daddy's here!" Cackles followed.

The man's tone stoked anger inside Drogon. Lifting his head off the ground, the black dragon roared. _Back the fuck up!_ But the man only laughed further, taking a step forward. _Who is this… HIM!_ It was the one on the ship. The one that wounded him and Rhaegal - that stole his mother away from him. Bellowing a fearsome shriek into the air, Drogon's mouth shimmering as the fire began to ignite…

Only to explode in a puff of smoke and flame, pained screech leaving Drogon's mouth as the scorpion bolt slammed into his side. Thick chain groaning, yanking him off his feet.

Euron's smile resembled a hyena. "Hit him again!"

**A/N: I'm a sap for weddings, lol. I think the goofy, happy Emilia Clarke would have made her appearance in this scene. Welcome change :D**

**The Faith of the Seven ceremony is quite romantic, I think. Perfect for their vows given everything.**

**Yep, it was Dark Sister.  
**

**Euron is his own warning.**

**Translations:**

**_tolī. tepagon nyke tolī_ = harder, give it to me harder**

**_Valzȳrys_ = husband**

**Kessa = yes**

**If I get 25 reviews, I'll update Monday :)**

**Be sure to check out my new story, My Father's Son!**

**Next time, Euron's plan unfolds. And Brienne finally gets a message from Jaime :D**


	14. Ch 14: A Dragon's Capture

**A/N: ****Hey all! Sorry about the cliffhanger last time. It couldn't be all happiness. Not while Cersei and Euron are still in business.**

**Good news! My Rhaegar/Lyanna story has finally been published! It's called My Father's Son! Everyone be sure to check it out! :D**

**Leave a comment.**

Chapter 14: A Dragon's Capture

The loud _thwack_ of the massive scorpion let the barbed bolt fly. Steel tip slicing through the air to hit the Black Dread Reborn with a wet slap, barbs sinking into the flesh - impossible to dislodge. Buttressed to the ship's hull by bolts onto ironwood crossbeams, the winches brought the chains tight. Metal and wood groaning, the carrack joining the other in holding the beast down.

At Drogon's yelps, Euron Greyjoy grinned widely. "Go! Go! Make sure he can't escape!" Days of infiltration. Of sneaking men in at all odd hours of the night, creeping along the crags and walls of the deserted castle above to surround the great dragon. It was almost too good to be true - in his morose mood, Drogon hadn't even bothered to watch his back. A fact Euron was not going to let go.

Bolts stinging his flesh, Drogon felt nearly a dozen grappling hooks sink into his wings. Thick membranes pierced but not ripped by the sharp points, hundreds of men tyros compared to him but their combined force taking advantage of his weakened, stunned state to overpower him.

"We're ready, sire!" his officer barked, everyone gathered around the special contraption he had lugged with him. Ashore. Euron smirked, narrowed his eyes, and ran off towards his prize.

Scrambling forward across the wet sand, water soaking his boots as he hid his terror - the men thought he was fearless, and Euron was determined to keep it that way - the King slammed into the side of the dragon. Scales of the base of his tail warm, almost scorching to the touch. He could feel the blood racing, heart pumping in his chest. I am in the presence of the gods… It was electrifying.

While like an ant against a dog, Drogon managed to feel the ironborn against him. Starting to hiss and shriek, desperate to crush the attacker.

Euron stumbled, nearly falling over to escape the thrashing tail slamming into the dragon's hide. "KEEP HIM PINNED DOWN!"

Atop the crags, prepared in haste and quiet as the dragon slept below - honestly, even the Salt King was shocked at how seamless it went - groups of reavers heaved two massive boulders off the cliff. Thick chains lashed around them in a powerful line that crashed atop Drogon. The dragon hooting in pain as the boulders and chain held him down further just ahead of his wings, neck jerking around in terror.

Teeth bared in a hyena-grin, Euron drew his knife and cut a gash along his palm. Red blood beginning to ooze out. "Time to taste dragonblood," he muttered, snarling and burying the knife between the black dragon's scales. As the crimson liquid gushed from the wound, he pushed his hand against the wound. Grunting in pain as the blood mixed.

As pained as Euron was, it paled in comparison to the jolt of agony released in Drogon. The dragon instinctively aware of what was happening - the darkest of the magic of old Valyria.

Deep roar overwhelming, the dragon surged up. Wings beating once. Twice. Snapping the chain and straining the hold of the ships. Grappling hook bearers tugged inward, meeting snapping jaws or crushing limbs. Euron jumped back, quickly turning tail and running back to his men. With a gout of flame, Drogon unleashed it at the closest ship. Dragonfire setting the deck alight in an inferno and breaking its back as he had done to the masters' ships at Meereen.

"RUN!" Even his hardened reavers couldn't stand against a dragon. "SAVE YOURSELVES!"

Euron gritted his teeth, drowning the fear that even he felt. "HOLD YOU CUNTS!" Pressing his blood smeared hand atop the horn, a searing heat coated it - the warmth always exuded by the metal almost sizzling from pure fire. As the beast before him engulfed the group of archers firing from the top of the cliff, the pirate king began the ancient chant.

_"Eglie mēre."_ Euron's voice trembled, but he forced himself to hold steady. _"Ānogar syt perzys."_ The horn shimmered blood red at his words. _"Perzys syt ānogar."_ Sweat covered his brow, the dragon roaring. Jerking his shoulder to move even a mighty Ironborn carrack. _"Nyke brōzagon va ao, tepagon nyke bisa dyni!"_

Bellowing, Drogon's roar pierced the very air around the island. It had to have been heard even as far away as Stonedance. Fire rushing forth from his maw, Drogon raked the deck of the faraway carrack. Men screaming and wood splintering as the ship was awash with flames. Chains snapping off and releasing the last hold on the Black Dread reborn. Unlike the other ship, this one's hull held - a floating pyre for its crew.

Spell completed, Euron punched the shoulder of one of his crewmen. "Blow it!"

"But sire…!"

Amber eyes met Euron's, the dragon's jaw opening - baring the rows of razor-sharp teeth within.

Euron literally shoved the man to the base of the horn. "BLOW THE FUCKING THING OR WE'RE ALL DEAD!" Already Drogon was advancing, ready to tear the Salt King limb from limb…

Lips to the massive horn, the reaver blew into it. Loud, deep rumble blaring through the damp air of the cove. Markings illuminated a brilliant red. Once. Drogon stilled. Twice. He screeched in pain, slamming his head into the sand and kicking up fountains of wet soil. Thrice. The dragon went limp, nothing but rhythmic breathing as the sheer chaos of before descended into a shocking calm. Four times…

The reaver screamed, chest a muted orange-red as smoke left his mouth and nostrils. Screaming his agony for a few moments before he collapsed in the sand, lungs a charred husk.

Euron laughed - only those with unburnt blood could blow the dragonbinder horn and live. Thank the Drowned God he could read Valyrian, for he wasn't intending to be an unlucky bastard. There were plenty of illiterate fools aboard his ships that could do so.

But all paled in the face of the fallen dragon, completely still against the shore. Waves crashing against it. Slowly, completely unarmed, Euron stepped closer. The survivors of the raiding party watched from the cove, from the cliffs, and from the patrolling ships further out to sea. Completely stunned even that their fearsome captain would approach an unrestrained monster such as the Dragon Queen's mount.

Reaching his muzzle, Euron softly stroked it. _"Dyni,"_ he cooed in High Valyrian, as if the dragon's father. _"Can you hear me?"_

There was silence, but after only a few moments a soft whimper left the mouth of the Black Dread Reborn. Euron's resulting grin was wider than ever before.

* * *

She didn't see anyone.

Scuttlebut travelled far in the Targaryen camp along the Dusken. Spreading like wildfire through the Sept of Baelor of the latest developments - high command being a favorite subject. Stories such as the Wildling Chief Tormund quickening his seed in both the Dothraki lovers he had taken passed around to ease the monotony with laughter. News that the King and Queen weren't on speaking terms with the Lady Sansa only made the comical rumors the more important to morale.

And the fact that Ser Brienne of Tarth, one of the heroes of both the Long Night and the Dusken, did not receive any visitors was more a public service announcement. Better the men know rather than get an unwelcome greeting of the sharp end of Oathkeeper.

Such is why the knock on the wooden beam outside the tent flap surprised Brienne so. "Go away," she called out.

"I have a message for Brienne of Tarth." The voice was gruff, unserious, and somewhat familiar.

Apparently the person didn't get the message. "Go away!" she shouted, far firmer. The man ended up walking in anyway. "The fuck?! Get out!" The blonde knight moved for her sword, only to find it was lying on her cot far out of reach.

The man laughed. "Been hitting the bottle a little too much?" Littering her camp table were empty and half-empty flagons of Dornish red - bad Dornish red. "Not the best look for a Knight of the Realm."

Eyes narrowing, Brienne finally managed to put a name to the face of her visitor. "Bronn of the Blackwater." She had met him twice - once before Riverrun and once at the Dragonpit. "So you've smelled out a new coin purse in the Targaryens."

Bronn shrugged. "Lord Tyrion promised me Highgarden, though I doubt he's in a position to deliver. Still, I'm more likely to get somethin' from the Dragon Queen and the bastard…"

"Aegon Targaryen is the trueborn heir of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen, so I suggest you change your words." Gods this man was annoying. If he slipped up again, Brienne would have the excuse to run a sword into his neck.

Silent for a moment, Bronn whistled. "I knew I missed the best gossip cooped up in that walled prison." He laughed. "As I was saying, the Queen of starving bellies isn't in a position to reward me, and I intend to get my castle."

Rolling her eyes, Brienne was getting tired of this. "I doubt you want to spill to me your life's ambitions, so get to the point so I can have my peace."

"Jaime Lannister asked me to come to you." Brienne's eyes widened a moment before she snapped back away. He had broken her heart enough times for her to know better. "Said for me to give you a message."

"You can toss it into a fire for all I care."

A snort left the former sellsword. "Wow, I can see why he wants you. Just as fuckin' turtured as he is."

"Yeah, wants me." _Why am I bearing my soul to this shit?_ Then again, who else was there? Podrick or Sansa would just be awkward after. "That's why he left to continue fucking the sister that abuses him."

"Sure, wasn't the babe in her belly that had anything to do with it."

That caused her head to whip around. "Babe?"

"Aye, he got the Lion bitch pregnant before any of the shit that happened in the north. Don't know what happened there, don't want to, but it's clear it changed the man." He dropped a note on the wine-stained desk. "I got the baby out with the Queen, and I think Tyrion is taking care of im'. Dunno what happened to Jaime, though it can't be good. He knew that, but did it anyway." Bronn moved to leave. "Do what you want, but if I were you I'd at least read the note." With that he was gone.

Wine starting to clear from her system, Brienne's head pounded with what Bronn had told her. The former sellsword just roaring in like a cyclone, upending her entire isolation, then disappeared. Hand trembling, she reached for the note. Barely able to open it, so nervous she was. Eventually, her bloodshot eyes began to read the lines.

_Ser Brienne_

_If you've gotten this note, Bronn, her Grace, and my dear son Tywin have successfully escaped the capitol. I've probably been jailed in the black cells… if not executed, though until Cersei leaves her coma I would doubt Qyburn has the balls to give the order himself._

_I know you must think me scum - honestly, you are right. I have been scum for years. Let the words and lies about me turn me into the opposite of my knightly vows. Into something Rhaegar, Ser Arthur, or Ser Barristan would regard with contempt. To Tyrion, Brandon Stark, and Queen Daenerys I have tried to make amends, but you are the one I owe the most amends to._

_Brienne… I had to come south. I had to deal with Cersei once and for all, for it is my madness to end. You would have insisted to come with me, but that would have ended with you at certain death instead of just me. No part of me could bear that for a person that I love._

_If by some miracle we both survive Cersei's last rage-filled strike and the fire and blood their Graces will unleash in response, perhaps would you consider a betrothal of House Lannister and House Tarth? Kind as Tyrion is, I doubt he can raise a boisterous lad._

_Nor could I live without you. If Aerys and Cersei broke me, you saved me._

_Ser Jaime Lannister_

_Knight of the Realm._

For the second time in as many months, Brienne's world was shattered.

* * *

"My love," Daenerys cooed, running her hand along his brow. "You never did tell me how you got this scar."

Jon sighed, rolling onto his back. "Is it that noticeable?"

Gods, he was so adorable. Tossing her hand over his chest, Dany snuggled up to him and kissed his neck. "I honestly find it quite dashing, my warrior husband." As much as she hated his suffering, the tough warrior without peer that was King Aegon VI Targaryen set her alight. "Please do tell me, Jon. I want to know everything about you."

It was still hard for Jon to stop deprecating himself at every compliment or praise, but every day the voice of Lady Catelyn or Alliser Thorne knocking him down in his mind began to fade, replaced with the warm adoration of the woman he loved. "You are amazing, Dany."

"I try," she sultrilly replied. "Now tell me."

"Fine." He chuckled, pulling her even closer to him underneath the warm furs. "It was when I was with the wildlings. The band I was traveling with had climbed the wall…"

Dany stared at him, eyes wide. "You actually climbed that massive thing?" Could this man even be more perfect in her eyes - strong, powerful. A man that had earned his crown a thousand times over.

A laugh left Jon's lips. "It's not impossible, but far more terrifying than you think. Luckily Tormund kept me alive in spite of hating my guts at the time." It still surprised him that the ginger wildling berserker had gone from wanting to gut him like a fish into one of his closest allies. _Then again, I'm here, a Targaryen Prince, with my wife the Dragon Queen in my bed._ Jon figured he was just like Dany - making the impossible happen. "We were supposed to be raiding across the gift, causing trouble in order to mask Mance Rayder's plan to assault Castle Black from the south. They had a warg…"

"A warg?"

"Someone who could take over the mind of an animal. Like Bran, though he was far more powerful than the average warg - those with the blood of the ancient First Men chieftains can theoretically do it. This one had an eagle he warged into." Daenerys simply watched him, her violet eyes sparkling with pure fascination. "A horse breeder that served the Night's Watch had escaped the raiding party and they demanded I kill him. I couldn't, and had to fight my way out. The warg's eagle did this to me."

Staring at him for a moment, Daenerys burst into giggles. "Here I am, thinking some thug or reaver nicked you in a fight to the death, when in reality it was a bird."

"It was a big bird," Jon huffed.

"Oh, Jon. Cm'ere." She pulled his head until his raven curls rested between her breasts. Dany stroking through them softly as she loved doing. "You and I have lived quite interesting lives. Someone should write it all down so that future generations know what we went through in order to break the wheel."

Shifting to look up at her, Jon grinned. "Sounds like an interesting idea… perhaps you should do it."

She blinked. "Writing such a thing myself… well, I think that would ensure our exploits aren't drafted by someone who would distort everything. Although…" Dany's smile grew sultry. Seductive. "I don't think I should tell the world of our… intimate life." Her eyes blazed with a possessive lust. "Only I may enjoy this body, _Aegon Targaryen._"

"So it's Aegon now?" Jon said, left eyebrow rising. At Dany's teasing nod, he rolled on top of her, pinning her hands. Cock hard and resting on her belly. "You know what it does to me." The last was in a harsh whisper.

Daenerys felt her arousal returning. "Aegon…" The moan only grew louder as Jon thrust into her to the hilt. Their young marriage had been a whirlwind of utter bliss. Her pregnancy stoking her lust to the highest levels, Jon had only been happy to oblige. Neither leaving their tent as the inside became an echo chamber for lustful moans and pleasured screams, monarchs losing themselves in each other's naked bodies. "Oh fuck." Dany was delightfully sore all over from him, but her deep arousal still unsated couldn't bring herself to care. "Fuck me, Aegon."

"Dany," he hissed through gritted teeth, setting a fast pace. They had plenty of hours-long lovemaking that had her mewling her pleasure and their hearts clenching from love, but Jon wanted to have her shatter quickly. He wanted to fuck her hard, and Dany wasn't complaining. "Take it, my dragon."

"Your dragon. Only yours… gods…" Eyes rolling into the back of her head, Dany tumbled into pure ecstasy… only for Jon to keep pounding her. Grabbing her leg and throwing it over her shoulder. The new angle making her scream. "Oh fuck… please, Aegon… seven hells…" This was new, and it was amazing. "More. Please… ahhhh!" She was close to tears at how good it was.

His wife was so tight. So perfect. Jon would never tire of this woman - no other could compare, no other to draw his fancy as long as he lived. The heart, soul, and passion of the King belonged to his Queen. Now and always. The furs slid off his bare back as he doubled his pace. Knowing he was about to erupt and wanting her to join him. "Touch yourself, Dany. Find your release."

At his command she obeyed - the only one she would ever obey, knowing the same was true of him for her. Reaching between their bodies, finding her nub, it didn't take long for Daenerys to come undone. "Aegon!"

Jon not long after. "Daenerys!"

The winds of winter still blew hard outside, but the fires of the braziers and the superheated dragonblood in the King and Queen kept the tent toasty. Covered in sweat, Jon had his head buried in the crook of Dany's neck, completely spent - Dany just tried to catch her breath, fingers trailing up and down his spine. Young lovers enjoying the pleasurable aftershocks of their coupling…

_In an instant, Jon and Daenerys found themselves somewhere else. Minds foggy and swaying, struggling to maintain their balance. A quick inspection found them fully clothed, greeted with harsh sea winds. "Dragonstone," Dany breathed in disbelief. How did they get here…_

_"Forgive me, brother. Goodsister." Both snapped their heads around to see Brandon Stark, normally serene face contorted in a grimace. "Congratulations on your wedding - I watched the whole thing." It was genuine, though without happiness - Bran sounded like he wanted to be happy, though._

_"Bran, what's going on?" Jon asked, starting to worry._

_A massive roar overtook them, Bran's grimace growing more pained. "The dragonbinder has returned, I'm afraid."_

_Suddenly, the ground shook as Drogon - scales even blacker than before if it was possible - leapt onto the cliffs from the cove below. Snarling, snapping with his teeth, Daenerys covered her mouth in horror as his normally amber-gold eyes were a bloodshot red. Angry, enraged, feral. Lacking the wise contemplation and sharpness that her eldest child exhibited._

_And atop him was a sight that made both the King and Queen pale. There was Euron Greyjoy, grinning like a maniac. _"Dyni!"_ he commanded in High Valyrian, a word that stabbed into Dany's heart - it meant beast. _"Sovegon!"_ Drogon roared and took to the skies, obeying the command of his new rider…_

_"You needed to see this," Bran said with sorrow in his voice. "Only the blood of the true bond can break the curse. Good luck." The island vanished in a flash of white light…_

Back in their bed, frantic violet met fearful grey. "He has Drogon," Dany murmured. "Euron has our child."

"He controls him… the dragonbinder…" Jon seemed to recall a story Maester Luwin had once told about the Valyrian dragonlords. "Drogon is his now…"

Instead of cry, instead of panic, the twin gazes of the King and Queen burned pure dragonfire. The dragons had awoken.

* * *

Soft.

Such was the first conscious thought Cersei Lannister felt. Everything shrouded in darkness, in a foggy confusion, the only feeling she could accurately register was how soft everything felt

_Where am I? Why can't I open my eyes?_

Apparently she started shifting, groans leaving her lips. "Wait… Lord Hand, she's awake." Further scrambling and scuffing of feet against stone tiles. Servants and healers rearranging themselves.

At last a voice she recognized. "Your Grace, can you hear me?"

"Qyburn…" Cersei croaked. Her voice was hoarse, scratchy. Barely above a whisper as her throat burned. "Where…"

A wrinkled, bony hand stroked her cheek. "You're in your chambers in Maegor's Holdfast."

"How…"

"You went into hard labor, your Grace. Lost a lot of blood."

_Labor… the baby._ As scared as she was, her eyes still wouldn't open. "My babe… where is my babe…?"

But Qyburn cut her off, placing something cool on her lips. "Shhhh, your Grace." A cold liquid slowly filled her mouth, soothing against her sore gullet. "Sleep. You need to recover."

"Jaime… whe…"

"Sleep, my Queen, sleep."

_Jai…_ And then blackness once again.

**A/N: And bookEuron is back and badder than ever! Now he has a dragon. ****Hope you liked my version of the dragonbinder.**

**I know it seems a little far-fetched that Drogon would be pinned down by Euron and his men, but in his depression he hasn't eaten as much as he should and the sadness has affected his senses. As a result, he's far weaker than he should have been, allowing for the Ironborn to infiltrate the abandoned Dragonstone and surprise him. As you can see, it only lasted about two minutes before he found his strength again.**

**Couldn't forget Brienne.**

**I don't know which would piss Dany and Jon more: that their child was captured or that Euron ruined their long-awaited happiness. I guess it's safe to say the dragon has been awakened. **

**Translations:**

**_Eglie mēre. Ānogar syt perzys, perzys syt ānogar. Nyke brōzagon va ao, tepagon nyke bisa dyni_ = High one. Blood for fire, fire for blood. I call on you, present me this beast.**

**Be sure to check out my new story, My Father's Son!**

**Until next time ;)**


	15. Ch 15: A Dragon's Scheme

**A/N: Hello everybody! **

**The actions of the last chapter... let's just say they were controversial. The Dragonbinder is part of the GoT lore, and my little changes to it are - in the scheme of the magic in the source material - quite tame.**

**Good news! My Rhaegar/Lyanna story has finally been published! It's called My Father's Son! Everyone be sure to check it out! :D**

**Now, we get into a two chapter arc that settles one big problem for our heroes. Enjoy and review!**

Chapter 15: A Dragon's Scheme

The Targaryen camp had transformed. Once sleepy in the hangover of their victory at the Dusken, now it darted about like an ant mound kicked in. Soldiers sheathing their swords, tenders hitching animals to their wagons or placing saddles on the riding horses. Noncombatants packing the tents and helping the knights dress in their armor. At the single royal order for immediate mobilization, the whole colony shifted into battle stance to march on the capitol.

"I wouldn't know what caused this, my Lord," Sansa said quietly, black dress brushing the blades of winter grass not coated by snow. It was hells for the Reachmen and Dornish but rather comfortable for her - used to far worse. "Do you think…"

"The Targaryens and Starks are magical bloodlines, Lady Sansa," Varys replied, hands clasped together as he walked beside the Wardeness of the North. "I would not be shocked if they noticed as it was happening."

She furrowed her brows at Varys, trying not to take a dagger and stab him through the heart. "My brother may have had something to do with it."

This drew Varys' interest. "Oh?"

"He sees all and knows all. I wouldn't put it past him to let their Graces know."

He pursed his lips. "Perhaps I could have made him King, if he's truly all knowing."

Sansa couldn't help but snort. "Bran as King? No one would go for it." She rolled her eyes, emotion for once completely genuine - the Wardeness loved her little brother, but that was a bridge too far. "What would they call him? King Bran the Broken?" Laughing at the thought, even Varys smirked slightly at that.

Along with the order, all members of the small and war councils were summoned to the command tent - Lords and Ladies already filing in. Varys and Sansa entered the line behind Lord Hightower and Lady Arianne Martell, recently having arrived from Sunspear. Grey Worm and three other Unsullied spearmen guarded the entrance, likely indicating Daenerys' bloodriders waited inside. No chance at any assassination at this particular meeting.

"Commander Grey Worm," Varys said in his serene warmness. Only getting a steely glare in return - the Unsullied commander's default look. Nodding, the Master of Whisperers ducked into the tent.

For Sansa however, the glare hardened. Eyes narrowing in a welled anger for the Lady of Winterfell - it was no secret among the high command that Sansa had been the one to divulge Jon's identity. Missandei knew, and thus it was told to Grey Worm. He hated the redhead - she betrayed his Queen and King, and the tense silence between them was fine by him…

Until Sansa's hand brushed quickly against his fist, tucking a tiny sliver of paper into it. "For the Queen," she whispered only so Grey Worm could hear. Head turning ever so slightly, watching Sansa disappear into the tent, he merely grew impassive once again while sliding the message into the pocket of his trousers.

At the head of the massive map table were the King and Queen. Dressed in full battle regalia, Longclaw strapped to Jon's side while Dark Sister was strapped to Dany's. Each wearing a hardened expression that left no other emotion room upon their faces, they merely stood, gazing at the marker on the map representing Drogon - resting atop Dragonstone. An occasional white-furred head poking out from the bottom revealed their faithful direwolf. Resting between them, at the ready to attack any threats that might come their way.

As soon as the last person - turning out to be Tormund Giantsbane - entered the tent, Jon begun by simply grabbing the markers of the Iron Fleet and moving them to Dragonstone. "I take it we found Euron Greyjoy," remarked Lord Paxter Redwyne. Without Yara Greyjoy, he possessed the largest remaining fleet loyal to the Targaryens.

Jon was lost in thought, retreating back into his trademark brooding personality. Daenerys looked up, however. Some flinching at the blazing dragonfire in her violet eyes. "Yes, he is at Dragonstone."

Missandei felt a chill go through her. "Isn't that where Drogon…"

"Please tell me your Grace's dragon hasn't perished," paled Lord Royce. Sansa bit her lip, willing herself not to speak at the moment. She was lost in the murmurs and shivering lords and ladies.

"No, my child has not perished." A flash of pain crossed over Dany's expression before the rage smothered it. "Euron Greyjoy rides my dragon. He has become a dragonrider."

There was complete silence. All wearing looks of horror or disbelief, though Varys hid a satisfied nod, lips tucking into his mouth in thought. "How is that possible?" breathed Tyrion.

"It's not possible," said Edmure Tully. "Only a Targaryen can ride a dragon." So long had passed since dragons soared over Westeros, much of what was known about them had been lost to the ages. Only the basics, and even then mostly legends or second hand sources written in the Citadel. "This could be disinformation by Cersei's Hand…"

"No, it is the truth." All eyes turned to Jon, hands splayed over the map table. Head down, not even looking at his war council. "There exists an artifact from Old Valyria. The Valyrians called it a dragonbinder - it was made from Valyrian steel and hollowed out dragonbone. Imbued with the magic of the pre-Doom fire mountains." Bran, from Winterfell, had guided him, and Dany to the portion of the past where to find out - strength only powerful enough for a quick glimpse. "Most were used to control the dragons, temper them so their riders could make the bond, but legend holds that a few were made so that non-Valyrians could seek the bond. Tame a dragon, at least for a short while."

Sansa blinked. No one said anything about Euron riding a dragon - especially not Varys. "Are you saying that Euron found one of these dragonbinders?"

Looking up, grey eyes meeting hers, the expression on Jon's face said everything. "Yes, he did."

Panic gripped the council. Some requesting retreat, some demanding a final battle to the death, while most just babbled incoherently. Noise pounding away at her head, Dany drew Dark Sister in one swoop and slammed the pommel against the table. "Enough!" She stared down every man and woman present. "Euron is a fool, a mad dog. The true threat is the one who let him off his leash." Taking the figurine representing Rhaegal, she pushed it right at King's Landing. "His Grace and I will be traveling to the capital on our remaining dragon and end the reign of Cersei Lannister once and for all."

"Your Graces," Tyrion began, worry on his face. "We've talked about the risks of a direct assault on the Red Keep…"

Jon's withering glare sent the former hand reeling. "Your advice has led us to nothing but defeat. We are dragons, and it is time that the dragon wakes." He turned to the new Hand. "Davos."

"Yes, your Grace."

"Prepare the army. It marches for the capitol in three days." Linking their hands together, the King and Queen left the council to choke on their words. Storming out of the tent.

Before they could make their way to Rhaegal, Grey Worm quietly slipped the piece of paper into Dany's hand. Hoping he had done right as he watched his King and Queen read it. Raising a single eyebrow as Jon moved to pull Tormund to the side as the wildling chief left the tent first.

* * *

Armor strapped and ready for battle, Ser Brienne of Tarth did not know what brought her to this particular tent. Jarred out of her morass and into the hardened warrior knight she was, it seemed the height of stupidity to trigger herself yet again… but she cared little. Part of her knew she needed to see this. To come face to face with the little bit of Jaime that wasn't trapped in the shithole that was King's Landing. Wordlessly, she entered the tent. Large crib in the center of it appearing immediately.

"I was wondering when you'd show up, Ser Brienne." Tyrion's voice startled her, though there was no malice in it. He sat in the corner of the tent, haggard and worn, but sober. A small smile on his lips, polite and welcoming. "Relax, I mean no harm." He sighed. "Apparently the only harm I can cause is against her Grace."

Brienne did not know what to say. "I… I know you did your best, Lord Tyrion. But fighting a war isn't your forte."

A chuckle left Tyrion's lips, not reaching his eyes. "It seemed so easy, in retrospect, preparing the city defenses against Stannis' army. We knew he was coming, he knew we knew he was coming, simple all around. All that mattered was stopping his inevitable attack." He wished he had a drink. "But the complex movements of soldiers, of alliances. Seems I thought too highly of myself. Davos is better, not to mention his Grace."

Nodding, Brienne's gaze fell back on the young child resting in his crib. "So that's really Jaime's child?"

"Aye, a handsome little one. Lion of Lannister." Groaning to his feet, Tyrion stepped to the crib. Picking the babe up and in his arms. "Unfortunately, his mother is insane, his father is in the Black Cells, and his uncle is not the kind of person who can take care of a dear child." Tyrion offered Brienne a weak smile. "This I do know, I am the last person cut out to be a father." He peered at Brienne, the smile widening slightly. "Here, why don't you hold him?"

Brienne blinked. "What… no… I shouldn't…"

"He's been quiet for days. I think he on some level understands the shit we're all in." Insistent, Tyrion managed to get the knight to take the babe in her arms. "My brother talked about you many times, one of the few topics that made him smile genuinely. I think you'll have the same effect on his son." Whistling softly, Tyrion ambled out of the tent. "I'll be waiting outside."

Never one for the feminine aspects of life, the tiny little one felt even smaller in her arms. Green eyes peering up at her with a stunned silence - as Brienne had when seeing a dragon for the first time. Such looks didn't faze Brienne. She had known them all her life, ever since her father let her abandon a dress in exchange for armor and sword. But with this babe…

Slowly, softly, she moved a calloused hand to stroke his cheek. Looking into his green eyes, the wisps of golden hair. Perfectly a Lannister, mirror image of his father. A golden lion that would dance with a sword and break hearts when grown. Knowing who his parents were, Brienne could only see Jaime in little Tywin. Perhaps that was for the best.

"Hello, little one," she said haltingly, not knowing what to say to a babe. "I… I know your father. He's a good man, in spite of what anyone says." It was true. The arrogant, incestuous Kingslayer - he was nothing of the sort. Condemned to that thanks to his self-imposed exile into his own mind. From their conversation in the bathtub, it had been obvious that she was the first person he had told his story in the longest of times.

In spite of herself, Brienne felt tears coming to her eyes. Blinking them away. "He was lost for a long time, your father. And yet he upheld his honor, fighting with me and with the King and Queen to bring the Dawn." Tywin clearly didn't understand, but seemed to take well to listening about his father. She continued. "Your mo…" It felt wrong to give Cersei the title of this adorable baby boy's mother. "Queen Cersei, she wouldn't take kindly to how he saved you, but he did so anyway. The bravest man I've ever known…" She continued to stroke Tywin's cheek. "I love your father very much, and you should to."

For the first time she had arrived, little Tywin gave a toothless smile, erupting into giggles. From her smile, it seemed that Brienne had the same weakness for him as she had for his father.

* * *

Teeth chattering in the just below freezing weather, the man of the Reach cursed under his breath. "Fucking cold." The metal of the spyglass he held was singing his hands, even through the thin riding gloves he was wearing.

The commander of the scorpion detachment rolled his eyes. "Stop being an annoying little cunt," he hissed, thumping his hand atop the smooth ironwood of the great contraption. As much as they had trained using the small devices pilfered from Castle Black, it still felt a new feeling to have one of the massive dragon killers stolen from the captured equipment of the Golden Company.

New in a welcome way. It may have been cold but the northerner felt the surge of savage warmth deep within him. At the tip off from his Lord and the paymaster behind him, him and his fellow patriots would rid the world of the dragons once and for all. The thought only exhilarated him.

"There they are." Eyes peering out from the tree-covered hill that overlooked much of the lands due west of Duskendale, he didn't need a spyglass to spot the beating wings of the King's Fury. "The bastard rides into the trap."

"We'll teach 'im not to sleep with foreign whores!" one of the men snarled. They had about twenty, armed to the teeth - ready for any eventuality. Another battery in the lowlands had the same. The Targaryens would never escape this trap.

A curse left the lips of the spotter. "It's just her!"

"What?" asked the battery commander, overseeing the cocking of the scorpion's winches. "The bastard isn't riding the monster?"

"No, just the bitch."

Dismissive snorts left many of the men. "Giving up what's supposedly his monster for the Valyrian whore." Of course he was nothing but a puppet blinded by the whore's body. "Traitor to the north," he muttered. _Soon, a true northerner will sit on the Iron Throne._

Hidden among the trees, the first battery tracked the green silhouette with keen eyes. These weren't the overzealous Lannister fools or Ironborn savages that botched the last two attempts to kill the Dragon Whore's monsters, but ones that had practiced and prepared for months. Tasked by their paymasters as the ace in the hole. Confident that the Targaryens wouldn't spot them in the snowy wilderness of the northern Crownlands.

In what seemed like full minutes, the dragon approached the crosshairs of the sights. Calibrated by the best maesters in Oldtown. "Ready!" yelled the gunner.

"Fire!"

"On the way!"

The torsion wires of the scorpion released the built up tension with a single twist of the lever. Shooting the projectile into the at the fastest speed. Fins at the end keeping it steady, aimed for the point in the air that the target would soon be upon.

Hands tight around her son's spines, Dany could sense Rhaegal's torment. A still pulsing grief at the loss of Viserion, a deep rage building up at Drogon's capture, and a worry for his father. On the ground without the green dragon's protection and support. "I know, my darling," Dany whispered, knowing Rhaegal could hear her. "I worry for him too."

_'I wish I could be protecting him as I am you and my siblings.'_ Rhaegal knew she was carrying the next generation of Targaryens before even Dany knew. Such compelled him to take the first wave of scorpion bolts from Euron's fleet.

Dany simply stroked his scales, love pouring out for her child. Even though she was Drogon's rider, her love for Rhaegal was just as strong - the Queen just knew that Jon would love Drogon just as much.

Normally, the Queen would have lost herself in the majesty of being on dragonback. Watching the world in a way only a Targaryen dragonrider could, freed of the surly bonds of earth to touch the face of the gods themselves - but not today. Not with what she knew. As such, her peering, watchful eyes caught the tiny dark dot that lanced up from the ground against the white of the snow. _"RHAEGAL! BANK!"_ With a roar the dragon complied, wings beating abruptly and thundering to the side in a tight turn that staggered Dany. Scorpion bolt shooting past only off by yards.

"They've fired!" yelled the spotter, watching the fight play out in real time. "Miss! It's a miss!"

"Fuck! Load!" The gunners moved like a well oiled machine, massive steel-tipped bolt tucked into place by the two man loading team. "Hold path, hold path!"

Sweat trickled down the forehead of the spotter - even as his breath fogged up in the chilly air - keeping the spyglasses trained on the monster. "She's going in for an attack run!"

The commander said a silent prayer to the old gods for his comrades. "Track the whore's path. Hit the beast just as they slow above."

"Yes, my Lord!"

Daenerys had spotted the battery within a split second of the evasion. Mental commands sending the King's Fury into a frantic dive so rapid that the air around them whistled. Closer and closer appeared the ground, man made weapons and armor glinting in the sun growing more distinct through the copse of trees shrouding it. Eyes blazed, rage welling within her. Fire and blood awaited anyone that dared to harm her family. _"Dracarys!"_

Scrambling in a terrified frenzy, it was over in an instant for the first battery. Bad luck had doomed them from the start, their only hope to live being killing the dragon with their first shot as the Dornish had against Rhaenys Targaryen and Meraxes. Such was not to be, Rhaegal's dragonfire enveloping them in the superheated tongue of flame. Turning they and the scorpion into ash within seconds.

All watched from the second battery atop the hill. Tracking Rhaegal's every movement. "Hold…" The commander cautioned. "Hold…"

"Ready!"

_Fuck you, dragon whore._ "Fire!"

"On the wa…" The acknowledgement turned into gurgle as blood spat from the gunner's mouth, arrow slamming into his chest. Pitching forward, the gunner turned the scorpion in a useless angle. Out of the fight.

Out of the thick woodland erupted dozens of men. Furs draped over them and wearing the face paint of Thenn blood guards. Axes swung, spilling blood all over the snow as they decapitated men alive. "To arms!" screamed the commander, drawing his own sword. "To arms!" The man beside him reached for his blade only to be tackled by a lunging white monster… the King's direwolf, eyes as red as blood. Teeth tearing through flesh and crunching bone.

And if the direwolf was here…

Flanked by Magnar Sigorn and Chieftain Tormund Giantsbane - the wildling's Dothraki wives Eshinni and Visiqui firing arrows from horseback, giving them rapid covering fire - King Aegon was a sight to behold. Longclaw an extension of his arm, he hacked and parried. Thrusted and slashed. Blade parrying a wild assault before twirling in his wrist. He let the attack forward, more and more Thenns following him - ripping through the unprepared battery like a knife through butter.

Running a hesitating Reachman through the stomach, the King signalled the skirmish over. Half the assassination team dead, rest captured. Only one Thenn was wounded, and he was swinging his fists at the unlucky men trying to pull out the dagger from his side.

Removing his sword from the limp body, Jon counted his blessings at the complete success. Dany and Rhaegal were making a final pass over the smoldering first battery, while the Free Folk gathered the prisoners into a single cluster. He walked over to Tormund. "Did you get all of them?"

"Aye," spat the wildling, rolling his shoulders. "A couple tried to get away." He hefted his axe, coated in blood and brain matter. "No one else tried."

Jon snorted his approval. Inspecting the dozen or so men in unadorned Northern or Reach armor. Suppressing the urge to rend and burn all of them himself. Beside him, Ghost snarled at the prisoners, causing them to flinch. Eyes picked out one in particular. "You two, get that man to his feet. He's the ringleader."

The Thenns obeyed their King Crow, hauling the cursing northerner upright and away from the others. Tormund blinked. "How do you know he's in charge?"

"Clean clothing," Jon replied simply. "Those in charge never get their hands dirty. At least not of the asshole variety."

The ginger wildling chortled. "You keep saying you're not a poet, but that was better than any flowery bullshit other prissy southerners have said." Such was the highest of affection from Tormund.

"You say the sweetest things," Jon replied dryly. "Do you charm your Dothraki wives like that?"

"Nah. I slap their asses, they punch me, and then we're tumblin' naked." At that point both Eshinni and Visiqui were upon him - socking him in the stomach before kissing each of his hairy cheeks.

An amused smirk formed on the King's lips. Ironic. Jon looked up to see Rhaegal banking overhead, Daenerys' braids flowing behind her in the wind. Same thing happens to me. Apparently the fiery nature of a pair of dragons worked quite well in the bedroom. The small smirk on his face was unavoidable.

"I ain't saying fucking anything!"

The smirk fell immediately. Fists starting to clench, he glared at the prisoner. "Sigorn. I'll be questioning this cunt personally. The others you can make into your dinner."

Baring his teeth in a savage smile, the Magnar of the Thenns and Lord of Karhold pumped his fist in the air, the other Thenns whooping while the smell of soiled trousers filled the air around the cluster of prisoners.

Anger rolling off him in waves, Jon approached the leader of the traitors. "Who put you up to this?"

"Fuck you!" he snarled, earning a punch to the gut in response.

There was no patience or mercy in the King's air. He lifted the man and squeezed his throat, only relenting as the prisoner's face grew purple. "I will kill you, do you understand?" Behind, Rhaegal slammed into the ground in a hard landing, neck rearing upward in a bellowing roar. Atop his back, Dany begun to dismount. "Who ordered you here? Who gave you the scorpion?"

Only a laugh came in reply. "I don't fear death by the hand of you fucking dragonspawn." And there it was. Love or hate, Jon was no longer a wolf to many northmen. Another dragon, like Daenerys. "Sword or dragonfire, it means nothing. I'll be in the afterlife quickly enough and there will be more patriotic northmen ready to die for an independent…"

Jon cut him off with another right cross, this time breaking his nose. "Listen to me, cunt. Those men will butcher you alive and eat you. If you want a quick death, I suggest you speak freely about what I wish to know." Spotting Ghost greeting Dany as she set foot on the snowy ground - the Queen scratching his fur before stroking Rhaegal's scales - a dark smirk crossed his face. One that would have made the Night King flinch. "Ghost! Come!" The direwolf banded over to him, immediately baring his teeth at the man, who looked upon him in terror. "I haven't fed my direwolf today. I'll bet he's hungry."

Face paled in fear. "No!"

"Tell me who put you up to this, and your flesh will meet my steel." The prisoner hesitated, and Jon smiled. "Ghost, dinner." The direwolf began to lunge.

"Wait! Wait! I'll talk!" Apparently death by direwolf could break even the most hardened man.

By the end of his blubbering, Jon's eyes blazed a bright fury - violet surging forth to fight with the grey, both as dark as night. His fingers tightened around the bannerman's throat. "I should rend you with my bare hands," the King seethed.

"Eat 'im, King Crow!" one of the Thenns jeered, causing the prisoner to go pure white.

"No, please!" he gasped, sputtering through his constricted windpipe. "You gave… word…"

Surprisingly evenly given her reputation, Daenerys placed a hand on her husband's shoulder and spoke to him. "You did give your word, my King. It wouldn't be honorable to go against it." Even though she regarded the man as worse than an insect, Dany knew her husband well.

Staring furiously at the prisoner for a moment more, Jon let him collapse to the ground, coughing and wheezing as he tried to catch his breath. Around him, the Thenns and Tormund looked disappointed that they weren't going to get a show… or a meal. "Aye, I did give my word." In a fluid motion that lasted but a second, Longclaw twirled in his wrist and chopped downward through flesh and bone.

"Argh!" The prisoner screamed, clutching the new stump where his left shin used to be, severed from his body. Blood began to gush, drenching his hands, trousers, and the snowfall all around. "You promised you'd behead me you fucking cunt!"

Sheathing the sword - resolving to clean it later - Jon pulled Dany close to him. Kissing her forehead before glancing down at the man. "I did promise - that my steel would taste your flesh. It did." The man's eyes widened in terror and realization. "Ghost, dinner." A sharp growl was followed by screams as the massive white direwolf pounced on the condemned prisoner. Jon and Daenerys simply walked back to Rhaegal when Ghost's teeth first ripped through warm flesh.

**A/N: Dragonlord Jon is back, baby! Had to think of an original, witty way for him to kill the traitors. It may not be as cheesy as 1980s action flicks, but I think his witty lines worked ;)**

**With Brienne... let's just say I found the perfect way for Tywin to live and yet Maggie the Frog's prophecy to be true.**

**Be sure to check out my new story, My Father's Son :D**

**Next time, Cersei wakes firmly, Arya plans, and Jon and Dany deliver fire and blood.**


	16. Ch 16: A Dragon's Justice

**A/N: Hello everybody! **

**Just curious. Would y'all be willing to read a fun little one shot by me about our favorite couple? **

**Be sure to check out my Rhaegar/Lyanna story My Father's Son :D**

**Trigger warning. Jon and Dany get dark.**

**Enjoy and comment!**

Chapter 16: A Dragon's Justice

_It is done… the beast is under control._

_I suggest you leave the capitol immediately, unless you want to become a bony roast._

_Euron Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands_

Smiling softly to himself, Qyburn dropped the small slip of parchment into the fireplace behind his desk. Returning to his scribbling orders onto the various dispatches. An order to fully man the scorpions on the northern and western walls. One to lower civilian rations by one third, and to correspondingly double the guards at all the gates to make sure the smallfolk couldn't escape. Execution orders for another hundred rioters and illegal food distributors.

Each received his signature - carrying the weight of the Queen herself. While the rest of the Seven Kingdoms belonged to the Targaryens, King's Landing was still under the rule of Cersei of House Lannister, and Qyburn did his best to carry out her wishes.

At least in most respects, that is.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. "Lord Hand," called out Ser Arys Oakheart.

"Come in, Ser Oakheart," Qyburn said offhandedly. Kingsguards arriving were a dime a dozen during his days. However, when the door opened in walked Oakheart and Boros Blount, both flanking the door and standing with their hands on the hilt of their swords. Holding position as the thing that used to be Ser Gregor Clegane walked in - carrying Her Grace Cersei Lannister in his massive arms. Qyburn was on his feet in seconds, bowing. "Your Grace, I am of the highest joy that you have recovered from your sleep."

Sour-faced, grimacing in pain with each jolt of the Mountain, Cersei didn't shift her gaze from Qyburn even as her guardian set her down in the chair across from her Hand. "How long was I out for, Qyburn?"

He took a seat once she did. "Two weeks, your Grace. Your condition was… quite serious. It took most of my healing knowledge to keep you alive without resorting to the same means as Ser Gregor."

"I am glad you didn't mutilate me." She didn't sound glad. "Where is my child?"

A sigh left the ex-maester. "A beautiful, healthy boy was born, your Grace. Ser Jaime named him Tywin, after your father." Something flashed in Cersei's eyes. Something resembling… love? Affection? Sentimentality? "However, the child is not here."

The flash left, replaced by the same look of bitter madness in the emerald eyes. "Where is my child, Qyburn!"

_"...three for you. Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds…"_

The words haunted her, killed her inside. All three of her children - Joffrey, Tommen, Myrcella - dead with golden shrouds. But little Tywin, he was going to be the one. The one to prove that bitch Maggy the Frog wrong…

"Ser Jaime… he gave the child to Daenerys Targaryen."

Already pale, it was as if all the blood had drained from Cersei's face. "Please tell me that Daenerys Targaryen is still in the Black Cells." Her voice was simply… flat. Gaunt. Hollow.

"She escaped to her bastard lover. The same day as the Targaryen forces completely annihilated our army on the south bank of the Dusken River."

There was a terse silence for several moments before a pitched scream shook the entire Red Keep.

* * *

"I still can't believe it, Jon." Daenerys snuggled back against him, wiggling her ass into his crotch. Enjoying how he groaned. "I would have sworn she was the traitor."

"She betrayed our oath in the Godswood, but it wasn't malicious." Hand resting on the swell of her stomach, Jon stroked it lovingly. Feeling their babies grow within. They both rested on Rhaegal's warm back, the great dragon curled up in the countryside. Resting after the skirmish. One last moment of calm before they would need to return to their army. "I know she'll need to have a long way to go to earn our trust back."

Dany shrugged. "This is a start." Turning in his arms, she kissed him sweetly. Looking into his eyes. "So we both know what we'll do?"

Jon nodded. "Aye, we do." Kissing her again, it quickly grew heated. The familiar ache burning within. The King surged forward, pushing her onto her back. "I want you, Daenerys."

Checking their connection, Dany could tell Rhaegal was asleep below them. "This is so naughty…" Making love on dragonback, not something she ever thought she'd partake in. "What do you do to me, Aegon…" His breath was so hot on her ear and Daenerys loved it.

"We're blood of the dragon," Jon smirked, one hand fondling her breasts as he licked from her ear to her neck. "I'm sure Aegon the Conqueror had his fun atop Balerion." Thinking of his ancestors, the beautiful Rhaenys and Visenya enjoying their husband from dragonback only spurred on his lust for the delectable Valyrian beauty below him. Sucking on her throbbing pulse, growling like the wolf that he was.

Daenerys could barely think straight. _Gods… his mouth…_ Nipping and sucking and tonguing the smooth column of her neck, Jon's devouring of her quickly transformed the great Mother of Dragons into a swirling cauldron of lust. "Yes, Jon… oh my love…" He attacked her skirts, yanking up the thick ice blue of her dress. Just like at the waterfall.

Her smallclothes were already soaked. One of the benefits of being married to a dragon… they were always so passionate, love turning to anger turning to lust in an instant. Sliding the offending fabric off, Jon counted himself the luckiest man in the world. "I can't wait, Dany." He climbed back to Dany's eyes, catching the sudden intake of breath through her lungs. "I need to be inside you."

"I need you inside me," Dany purred, captivated by the violet eyes. Hands suddenly frantic, attacking his trousers. Pushing them down just enough to free his beautiful cock. Daenerys reveled in his groan when she wrapped her fingers around him. Pumping slowly, teasing him. "Don't leave me waiting, my King."

Growling yet again, Jon pinned her to Rhaegal's scales and sheathed himself with one thrust. Her moans music to his ears, starting a brutal pace. There was time for a gentle lovemaking - this was not one of those times. Their skin slapping together. Moans growing into screams before Jon crashed their lips together. Tongues frantically battling to hold in their noises. Not to wake up Rhaegal.

_Fuck… Aegon… fuck!_ He was so good. So so good. Dany loved him - loved him more than anything. Loved his heart, his soul, his body. All her walls collapsed, just accepting him. Her King. Her husband. Her protector. Her love. And she could see in his eyes that he was the same to her.

They climaxed at the same time, never having broken their eye contact.

_Love comes in at the eyes._

* * *

A cold wind blew across the floodplain of the Dusken, chilling the assembled Lords, Ladies, and senior knights of the Grand Council. Lord Varys still felt a sweat on his bald forehead. He was nervous, and had good reason to be. Mounted on a pike driven into the ground was a severed head in a northern helm. Mouth open as large gouges had been ripped through the left cheek. Beside it rested the King's direwolf, bathed in crimson blood. _That explains the gouges._ The highborns around him were largely confused, but some fully knew. Varys included.

Many of those wished to run, but were discouraged by the full assemblage of Unsullied, Dothraki, and Free Folk guards stationed around them. The three forces in the Targaryen Army completely loyal to the King and Queen - thinking them gods among men. None would be bought or swayed. At the front stood only a few. Missandei, Lord Hand Davos, Tormund Giantsbane, Lord Sigorn of Karhold, and Grey Worm.

_Oh, this is not going to be good._

Out of the sky screamed Rhaegal. Green form diving by them in a blurr, a whistling crack of the King's Fury causing many to cringe or drop to their knees. What the Golden Company felt. What the Dead would have felt had they been among the living. The fear a dragon could induce was matched by nothing else in the known world.

Rhaegal banked hard, careening in for a hard landing. Slamming into the snowy ground with a poof - its roar bellowing far and wide over the plain. Lowering one wing, off came the King himself, taking the hand of the pregnant Queen gingerly and lovingly. They shared a deep, passionate kiss before making their way to the front of the assemblage. Hand in hand, but with a stern look on their faces. Dark Sister was on Daenerys' hip, while Jon carried both Longclaw and an empty scabbard. Varys didn't hope to determine what that meant.

Reaching the front, standing side by side, it was the Queen that spoke first. "Lords and Ladies, we have recently been informed of a plot on our lives and the life of my son." Rhaegal ambled till he was just behind his mother and father, enraged stare silencing any gasps or whispers that would normally follow such a revelation. "These cowards were waiting south of here with captured scorpions, ready to knock Rhaegal out of the sky as well as myself and the King. However, they failed." She looked to Jon, violet eyes firm.

Jon cleared his throat, looking like a dragonlord in his armor and sigil. "We interrogated the lead knight, a hedge knight from the North by the name of Eckard Snow. He informed us of the traitors, as well as the person he thought was the ringleader." He let a pregnant pause bellow before finally speaking again. "Sansa Stark of Winterfell, step forward!"

The Lady of Winterfell emerged from the crowd. Hair and dress immaculate and head held high. She would not cower or break. "Yes, your Graces?"

Eying Jon skeptically - the tiniest hint of her immense disbelief poking from under her facade - Daenerys nevertheless began. "We have evidence that you have conspired with treasonous factions within our council to assassinate us and place the crown of Westeros on your head."

"Lies!" Edmure Tully raced forward, face red. "You speak lies about my niece!" Two Dothraki bloodriders restrained him.

"Stand back, Lord Tully," Jon bellowed. "Lest you lose your head." The bloodriders shoved him back into place, still angry but quiet. Simply glowering.

"My apologies for my uncle," Sansa said. "Such evidence you have is correct. I have been conspiring to control the throne."

Gasps and incredulous shouts came from the crowd, Daenerys' eyes narrowing. "Anything else, my Lady?" Several pairs of eyes within the Lords and Ladies shifted, trying to find some way to flee.

Smirking, Sansa turned to the crowd. "What these conspirators do not know is that I am loyal to my King and Queen, and that I funnelled information to his Grace." A nod from Jon confirmed her statements. Dany really couldn't believe it - she had been so sure that any treasonous action would originate from Sansa. "A plot masterminded by Lord Varys, with Lord Glover as his paymaster and several Knights of the Reach as his minions."

"An outrage!" yelled the Lord of Deepwood Motte. "The Tully bitch lies!"

Jon, looking at Grey Worm, motioned with his hands. "There will be no trials. The evidence is damning. Seize them."

The crowd parted as the guards charged through. Thunder running it until they seized the names already determined previously - Jon and Daenerys stoic, eyes blazing with anger while Sansa only smirked. Enjoying as Lord Glover and several knights of the Reach began fighting the Unsullied… and getting their asses handed to them as a result

First tossed in front of the monarchs for their sentences were half a dozen knights - many from powerful houses in the Reach. "What do you scum have to say for yourselves?"

The ringleader, a bastard of House Hightower by the name of Lorent Flowers, glared. "There have been enough dragonspawn debasing the gods," he spat.

"Your Graces!" begged Baelor Hightower. "I had no knowledge of this!"

"The evidence seems to exonerate you, Lord Hightower," Daenerys stated. "But make sure you know where your loyalties should lay." The Lord of Oldtown nodded profusely. "As for all of you. Death by hanging shall suffice." She gestured to several gallows. "Grey Worm, make sure their necks do not break."

Grey Worm nodded. "Of course, my Queen."

Jon taking over, he walked to Lord Glover. "Anything to say before I pass sentence?"

"You little shit," hissed Glover, spit flying out of his mouth. "You betrayed everything your brother fought for… fuckin' a southern whore. A Targaryen whore! You weren't his bootlace."

"You're right, my Lord. I wasn't." Jon loved his brother - Robb was a far better man than he, but by the Seven he wasn't going to make Robb's mistakes. "Your family will be nothing but hedge knights. Your lands taken from you and given to the Free Folk rule."

This enraged the now ex-Lord. "Fuck you!"

Taking a glance at Dany, the grin on Jon's face was more frightening than Rhaegal. "As for you, my Lord. The traditional punishment of House Stark for treason… the blood eagle." Glover's jaw dropped, going pale… as did many others. "Tormund, Sigorn. Do it."

"What's the blood eagle?" Missandei asked Davos.

The Onion Knight glanced warily at her. "You really have to see it to believe it."

Lord Glover had been as pompous and arrogant as a Lord of a major keep could be in his dealings with the crown, be it the Northern or Targaryen - Edmure Tully and Wyman Manderly both confirmed it had extended to even dealings with Robb. Ever the image of a powerful, indomitable northern lord, it greatly amused Jon, Daenerys, and Sansa that he ended up crying and screaming like a little bitch as Tormund and Sigorn went to work on carving through his back. Unsullied, Dothraki, and Wildlings forcing the Lords, Ladies, and knights watched the whole thing, especially the traitors already having the nooses tied around their necks.

Both Free Folk chieftains were quite skilled - soon, everything was ready. Eyes burning with the same fury as Rhaegal's, Jon looked at his Hand. The Onion Knight nearly flinched with the pure dragonfire in them, glowing a bright purple. "Davos, do you have it?"

Nodding, Davos reached into his cloak and pulled it out. "From the Golden Company prisoners themselves. It's the one, alright." In his hands was Blackfyre, the sword of the Targaryen Kings of old. Forged in Old Valyria, carried by Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel as they killed and dispatched the enemies of House Targaryen. Now, unsheathing the smoky blade from its scabbard and wielding it himself, Jon would continue his ancestor's work.

He passed Tormund and Sigorn, the former nodding with determination while the latter gave a manic grin. Looking once more at Daenerys, fearsome in her blood red cloak and Valyrian-style plate armor, Jon met her fury with his. Took strength in it. Drew resolve from it. Dark smirk forming on his own lips, he walked till he could regard Lord Glover, the once haughty face covered in tears and snot - back chopped up into a bloody mess that exposed his back.

Eyes found Lyanna Mormont. "My Lady. Please…"

Lyanna spat at the condemned Lord. "Winter comes for you, cunt."

"I told you, my Lord. No one would ever threaten to take my Queen from me." Still sobbing from the unbearable pain, Glover slowly looked up to him. Seeing not just a Targaryen Dragonlord, but a King of Winter. The same that had fought the Red Kings and the Andals to a standstill. Hefting the sword of his house, Jon couldn't help but feel the same kinship with the blade as he did with Longclaw. "No man should enjoy what I am about to do, but I think the gods would forgive me this indulgence." Smirk only widening, Jon twirled Blackfyre in his wrist, raising it high before bringing it down hard onto Glover's ribcage.

If Glover thought he knew pain before, each swing of Blackfyre destroyed that notion. His pitched screams filled the air, even hardened Lords and Knights cringing at the splatters of blood. Blackfyre forged to hack through flesh and bone, but each attack upon Glover's ribs required precision. Slowing down the assaults, it took far more time - though Jon savored each swing. Grey Worm personally tossed ice cold water upon Glover's face, keeping him conscious for the whole ordeal.

Bones snapped with each swing. Edric Dayne paled. Tyrion turned away. Edmure Tully puked on the ground. Missandei closed her eyes. But Dany kept her eyes right on the traitor - Sansa as well. Both women victims of the worst abuse, veterans of the greatest atrocities upon the human body. They were desensitized to it - such scared them, but for now they would get satisfaction that the victim deserved it.

After over two minutes, the ribcage was open. Revealing Glover's chest cavity. Motioning to Grey Worm, the Unsullied commander reached in with gloved hands and a look of complete hatred on his face - nothing but contempt for the man that nearly killed his Queen. Helped nearly kill his beloved. Spat on the sacrifice of his friend Marden. Pulling out Glover's lungs and resting them on his shoulders… and damned if it didn't look like an eagle covered in blood, wings folded in.

Jon walked around to Glover's front, smirking one last time at his rival. "Winter came with fire and blood for you, Lord Glover." Not waiting for his eyes to look upon him, Jon brought Blackfyre down upon his head. Severing it. His violet fires looked upon the waiting knights on the block. "Kill them." Each Unsullied kicked the stools away, men collapsing, faces turning purple as the ropes slowly strangled them. Jon suddenly flashed back to killing the men that had betrayed him at Castle Black. He had felt horrible afterwards, while now he simply felt… satisfied.

_Am I a monster?_

Looking up at Dany, her stomach beginning to swell with their children, he no longer worried. _She is my salvation._ Together, they would keep their darkness at bay.

Glover dealt with, there was only Varys left. As they had discussed, Jon stepped back beside Daenerys - letting his beloved take the reins on this one. Unable not to smile lovingly at her, Dany leaned up to kiss him. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too."

Her smile and light disappeared when glancing back at Varys. Hardened Dragon Queen returning, Rhaegal letting out an enraged snort behind her. "Well, Lord Varys. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"If you intent to ask for mercy, I wouldn't bother," Sansa commented with a huff. As much as she hated herself for betraying Jon's trust, at least it was out of a misguided form of love. The fact that someone would seek to destroy her brother and goodsister for power's sake disgusted her.

"I don't intend to beg for mercy, Lady Sansa." Varys stayed even, proud and dignified even when condemned. "It wasn't supposed to be this way, my Queen."

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what way was it supposed to be, Lord Varys?"

"The Realm needed a strong ruler, but one who had constraints. Daeron the Good, Aegon the Unlikely. They ruled fairly and wisely, only without the harbinger of death… dragons."

"Their lack of dragons only invited war and rebellion," hissed Jon.

"And dragons nearly destroyed the realm countless times." Varys spoke with the conviction of a zealot. "I did what I could to make sure your dragons were taken." There was no hope left, so why not speak? "That you would win, but without dragons. Such is why I sent the plans for the scorpions from Dorne to King's Landing."

Eyes widening, Dany almost roared with anger. "You betrayed me before I even arrived in Westeros!"

"Tried to save you, and I failed. That is why I… shifted." He looked at Jon.

"Yet another King you fritter to after betraying the last one." Only worms like Glover or Janos Slynt drew more of his hate than connivers like Varys or Littlefinger. "Did you tell Qyburn of Dany's plans to go to Dragonstone."

Varys did not waver. "Yes." Ghost growled and Rhaegal roared. "It was the only way."

Sansa turned to her brother, only to nearly flinch at seeing him so enraged. "It was only when you embraced your Targaryen heritage that he turned to me, your Grace."

Feeling the anger surge within her, Daenerys forced herself to stay collected. Channelling the ice from Jon, her beloved Jon. Letting him ground her. When her eyes opened, the Queen of Westeros was a deathly calm. No flame in her eyes, but a powerful steel. "I promised you, Lord Varys, that I would burn you alive." Stepping forward behind her and Jon, swaying impatiently, Rhaegal growled - smoke puffing from between his bared teeth. "It isn't just Lannisters that collect their debts."

"No, I suppose they aren't." The Spider looked tired. Defeated, but unremorseful. "Lord Tyrion had told me that Jon Snow would temper your worst instincts, but I'm afraid you only stoked his. I weep for the Realm for that fact."

Jon tightened his hands on Longclaw and Blackfyre. Wanting to rend him apart as he did to Lord Glover. "You know nothing about me, Varys. If you had your way you'd have had me have a hand in destroying the one I love. The only one who I could ever hope to bring spring to this land with."

A look of amusement appeared on the eunuch's face. Mocking the two monarchs. "Perhaps without the monsters, that would be true." He gazed up at Rhaegal, then back to Daenerys. "Those beasts will enslave you to their evil, my Queen."

Daenerys matched his gaze with her steel. "A dragon is no slave, Lord Varys."

Nodding, Varys sighed. "Perhaps it is us that are the slaves." The road ended for him, nowhere else to go, he just wanted to rest. "Best get on with it, then."

Narrowing her eyes, Daenerys looked up at Rhaegal. "I, Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of my Name. Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men, co-Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, sentence thee to die."

The King's voice was just as firm, if not as controlling of his anger. "I, Aegon of House Targaryen, Sixth of my Name. King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men, co-Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, sentence thee to die."

"Dracarys." They said together, Rhaegal obeying his _kepa_ and _muna_ with maw igniting.

The gout of flame enveloped Varys completely, not even a scream managing to leave his throat before the searing inferno did its work. Unlike with the drawn out torture of Lord Glover, each Lord and Lady watched. Some grim, some nauseated, some nodding with approval, while most just watched. Accepting the new order. Standing tall, Jon found his wife's hand. Squeezing it, letting her know of his love. She squeezed back - even when fire and blood became necessary, their love was still strong.

In an instant it was over. Lord Varys nothing but a blackened stain on the ground. "Let it be known," Daenerys proclaimed, her voice booming. "House Targaryen is merciful, but pays its debts with fire and blood."

There was silence. A tense and uncomfortable silence, but after a time that felt like hours it was Sansa that broke it. "Hail the King and Queen." Without hesitation, she bent the knee to Jon and Daenerys. "Long may they reign."

Davos was next. "Long may they reign."

Soon, it was every Lord and Lady of Westeros present that knelt to the Targaryen monarchs. "Long may they reign."

**A/N: Fire and blood came for the traitors. Hope it was satisfactory.**

**Jon is embracing his Stark and Targaryen ancestry here. House Stark was badass in the day. it wasn't until Rickard that they became known for honor.**

**Be sure to check out my new story, My Father's Son :D**

**Next time, Arya, Jaime, and Euron.**


	17. Ch 17: A Dragon's Takeoff

**A/N: Hello everybody! Three more chapters left after this one, and it's gonna be exciting!**

**Very good news! I have become the lead co-author for the story Last Hope of Westeros (on archive, though there is a version posted here). The original author and co-author were unable to continue on it, so instead of letting it be abandoned they passed the torch to me. Another outlet for my talents, so come on down and check it out!**

**I PASSED THE TEXAS STATE BAR EXAM! I am officially a lawyer in the State of Texas!**

**Enjoy and comment!**

Chapter 17: A Dragon's Takeoff

Silence. A tense, vindictive silence, one in which could be cut with a knife it was so thick. Even such, it was quite expected. With Jon gone to deal with the aftermath of the executions - brutal spectacles as they were, reassuring the Lords that if they were loyal they'd expect the bounty of the new world House Targaryen planned to create - the two women were left alone in the royal tent. Deja vu for the both of them to a time in Winterfell just before the arrival of the Long Night, only now it was Sansa Stark that sought approval from Daenerys Targaryen.

For the shoe to be on the other foot, Daenerys felt quite a bit of satisfaction. Watching the high and mighty Sansa Stark essentially crawling to her, begging forgiveness. But it was quite a bit more complicated than that. From what Jon had said, Sansa wasn't as much a bitch as she had thought.

Still… "I remember when I came seeking an accord, Lady Stark. For two of the most important women in Jon's life to form that familial bond that he so desired of us."

To her credit, Sansa looked ashamed. "I… I didn't know if I could trust you."

"Two dragons and a powerful army to the defense of your home, not to mention my literal display of undying affection for your brother, wasn't enough to at least convince you of my sincerity?" Daenerys almost screamed the last, but forced herself to calm down. Letting her true rage evaporate along with Varys.

"There are few that I find myself able to trust," the redhead said after yet another silence. "The few that I have on any plane of equals… apart from my blood they have all done their best to destroy me in their own little way." Anger returned to Daenerys for a fleeting moment at the bitch trying to excuse her conduct, but it calmed just as suddenly. It looked upon closer inspection to be an explanation, not an excuse. "Abused by Joffrey and Cersei. Manipulated by Littlefinger. My husband…" she trailed off. "A monster…"

Even with all her rage at Sansa Stark, all her ire, Daenerys felt the bonds of empathy reweaving what arrogance and mistrust had torn. "A feeling I have known with my first husband." Sansa looked up, as if hearing this for the first time. "Sold by my brother to the Dothraki Khal, I was forced to conquer him in the bedroom, give myself to him in every way for the protection of his muscles and his warriors. It may have worked, but I always remembered who he was."

A cold look crossed Sansa's face, but for once it wasn't directed at her. "Ramsay would never have allowed that. The games excited him more than the abuse, being able to toy with one's mind…" Her eyes fluttered shut, not wanting to remember. "Jon saved me. Took me in and took down my tormentors."

Daenerys couldn't help but smile. "He has a habit of that." She leaned back, taking the woman Jon called his sister in - not as the demon to be hated or the family to be wooed, but the person she was. "Two women, raped, brutalized, sold, defiled, beaten down like dogs. Survived through their own strength, wits, and fortitude, but also because of Jon Snow - Aegon Targaryen. I am proud of the strong woman that I've become, but I am also proud to be fortunate enough to have him in my life."

Sansa offered her a small smile. "Perhaps we aren't as different as I thought." She sighed. "Jon… he deserves everything."

"He does. Which is why I intend to share my throne with him."

"Would you give it up if he asks?"

"I would," Dany answered without hesitation. "Just as he would if I asked, but neither of us would ever."

"The lone wolf dies, the pack survives."

_True of dragons as it is among wolves._ House Targaryen had fought amongst itself for too long, such fights dooming it to near extinction, deprived of successors who could have stepped in and ensured its survival. Daenerys intended to join with Jon in changing it, but first she'd have to stop the infighting within her own family. "I can't trust you, Sansa. Not fully after breaking your oath." The Wardeness of the North could only nod at that. "But knowing your reasons, knowing what you did… all for my husband and King… you have earned a chance."

Bowing her head, Sansa appreciated the gravity of what she had been given. "Thank you, your Grace."

"Daenerys. You are family, so call me Daenerys." The Queen smiled, only for the scowl to return. "Do not give me reason to doubt you again."

"I would never." Seconds ticking by, Sansa finally asked the question she had truly wanted to for days. "Am I truly to become an aunt to twins?" Daenerys' eyes lit up, that family moment between herself and Jon's kin finally in her grasp.

* * *

Hands going for Needle and Catspaw - Gendry already hefting his warhammer - both he and Arya relaxed when Sandor entered their room in the dragonpit. "Here." He dropped a sack on the floor, kicking up a cloud of dust. "Dinner's here, enjoy."

Putting away her blades to somewhere close to reach in case a goldcloak or thief set upon them, Arya grabbed the sack and rifled through it. "That's it? A loaf of moldy bread and two turnips?"

"You're welcome," said the Hound, frowning at Arya's glare. "A little gratitude would be nice."

"Gratitude?" She huffed. "I've eaten more while begging on the streets of Braavos."

Sandor rolled his eyes. "Be lucky I managed to get that. Guy put up a good fight too."

Picking up one of the turnips, Gendry sniffed it. Nose scrunching up in distaste. "Things must be shit out there for this to be the average ration."

Arya chewed on a piece of bread, forcing herself to swallow. "Cersei's bootlickers probably get more."

"As if. I got this off one of the goldcloaks." Both youths stared at Sandor in shock. "You really don't want to know what shit the smallfolk are gettin." He smashed a fist against the stone walls. "Day after tomorrow can't come soon enough. I'm killing that cunt and my fuck of a brother."

"The Mountain is yours, but Cersei is mind" Arya hissed. The Hound only shrugged and walked away - leaving her and Gendry alone. They ate in silence, just letting the time pass by. Sometimes they sparred, sometimes they snuck to one of the walls to watch the city slowly fall apart around them. But mostly they just stayed in the dusty stone buildings. Awkward between each other. As such, Arya felt his eyes boring into her back. "Stop staring at me."

There was a pause. "I'm not staring, Arry."

"You're always staring at me." To tell the truth, Arya didn't really mind. She liked knowing he was undressing her with his eyes… and that was what she was concerned about. "Please stop, Gendry. We can't be together."

"Arya?" Biting her lip, the younger Stark daughter looked up at him. Meeting his cornflower blue eyes… ones she remembered staring into as he took her maidenhead… "Why can't we?" He was never this forward, but their plan to finally go for the Red Keep in a few days time probably made him bolder. "You know I love you."

She looked away. "I'm no lady."

A gentle but firm hand pulled her gaze back to his. "I don't want a lady. You know me as anything but a proper Lord." His stare pierced into her, getting past her walls. A far cry from the bullheaded boy she had travelled from King's Landing with so long ago - he was so much more than that… "I don't want someone who would wear a dress and sew all day. Hells, I'd rather be in the forge than hunt." He took her hands, almost pleading. "Arry, we can be unconventional together."

Weeks of resistance just crumbled. "You are so stupid." Charging forth, she grabbed the back of his head and kissed him hungrily. The inner wolf inside of her finally howling with approval. Close to being sated after so long.

Last time it had been her in the lead. This time… Arya felt Gendry push her onto her back. Covering her little frame with his thick, muscular one. Arms pinning her to the ground. She looked at him with stormy grey eyes, dark with lust. Tough as nails and a seasoned killer, however the dampness behind her legs Arya proved something else about her. The urge to be dominated, to give up control, at least for now.

Pulling back slightly, Gendry looked in her eyes. "Arry? Was I too…"

She shook her head. His dominance, her lust… it broke the resolve. All her walls. "I love you, Gendry… you stupid bull," Arya couldn't help adding, especially as he smiled like an idiot. "Fuck me." He so readily complied, their tattered clothes essentially melting off, his length spearing her so deliciously. "Gods, you're perfect." She bit his shoulder, grounding herself in the intense pleasure.

Hearing a muffled profanities - multiple profanities of the vilest sort - both lovers glanced up to witness the back of Sandor Clegane as he stormed off. Mumbling something about "Fucking cunt kids," and other, similar phrases. It wasn't long before both Arya and Gendry were laughing merrily.

"I don't think he'll be able to look us in the face again," Gendry chuckled.

Still laughing, Arya cuffed him on the shoulder. "We should have found a room with a door." Grinning, happier than she had ever been even while stuck in the middle of a city coming apart at the seams, she kissed him tenderly. "May as well give him a show." Gendry grinned back at her as he resumed their kiss. Rocking back inside her.

Arya moaned. "Yes, my stag… yes…"

* * *

"He hasn't said anything, your Grace," the jailer stated, trying not to quiver in her presence. Cersei Lannister was in a foul mood. A very foul mood. Already a dozen servants had been burned alive with excess wildfire for this or that infraction, for imagined treasons or minor annoyances. No one was willing to go against her, namely for the reason that the executioners would be the last to die… at least that was what they told themselves.

Madness shimmering in her green eyes, Cersei waved him away. "Open the fucking door. He'll speak to me."

Bowing till he nearly toppled over, the jailer did as bidded. Unlocking the door to his most secure cell - the one that until recently had housed Daenerys Targaryen - and scurrying away. The Kingsguards would protect Queen Cersei. That and the fact that he really didn't want to be anywhere near her.

Gregor Clegane entering first, plodding steps loud and shaking the thin layer of dust and pebbles on the floor, Cersei kept her hands clasped behind her black dress as she regaled the matted hair and filthy presence of the man she had called her lover for decades. "Well, I had thought you weren't stupid enough to betray me again. Father called me the stupidest Lannister but it clearly is you."

Swallowing, Jaime pushed himself up. Giving Cersei a once over. He couldn't help but smirk, a foolish move in the situation he was in… _seven hells, there's nothing left for me to lose._ "They call you the Mad Queen, out there." Her scowl deepened, but he continued. "Starvation, irrational executions, constant assaults on crowds anywhere over ten people… but you aren't the real mad one here."

An eyebrow rose. "Oh?" Cersei willed herself not to lean against the wall or Ser Gregor, even though she ached. "You speak of the Dragon Whore, and yet you let her go! Or do you speak of the king you ran your sword through the back of?" she sneered, enjoying how she tortured him.

"No." He laughed again. "You don't know me too well anymore, Cersei." Years ago, she could read him like a book. Now, nevermore. "I was speaking of myself. I heard somewhere that madness was simply doing the same thing over again and imagining different results." Jaime gestured to her. "Well, I loved you so much, and yet you never changed. You never got better, just more and more resentful and angry till the madness took over."

"Where is our son?!" she screamed, rage clouding her once beautiful features. All Jaime saw remaining was a monster.

Grinning, Jaime pointed to the walls. "Gone. Assisted by Lord Qyburn to escape you. Your Hand betrayed you Cersei, and has been probably doing it for years." He took a step to her, only for her to step back. "Oh, think I'll kill you, big sister? I am your younger brother by forty-seven minutes. Just like that prophecy said." Cersei recoiled as if stabbed. "All three of our children dead, with gold as their shrouds, but perhaps for little Tywin something is different. How could he be yours if you never set your sights on him." One last act of revenge, he stuck the knife deep. "If I ever get out of here, I'll marry that Tarth girl and she'll be Tywin's mother."

At her scream, Ser Gregor slammed his fist into Jaime's gut, causing him to keel over. "I will burn the world to the ground before I let any whore raise my child!"

"Careful Cersei!" he called out, wheezing from the blow to the gut. "If I could betray you, Qyburn certainly could!" The last thing Cersei heard before Ser Boros slammed the cell door shut was Jaime's weak laughs.

Smirking, scoffing, a small voice rang in the center of her mind. Asking if he did speak true? If even now he did care about her, or was rather saying what he could to seed chaos and doubt in her mind. Though… could Qyburn be in fact betraying her? It was a thought that wouldn't go away.

"Ser Boros."

"Yes, your Grace?"

Her green eyes sparkled with a mad shimmer. "Find me Qyburn. Now."

* * *

Knights had squires. Great Lords had many squires. And Kings had an army of servants to care for them even while in camp. It was said that the bitter Aegon II employed twenty to prepare him for battle, anywhere from folding his undertunics just the right way to polishing his armor enough for him to see his reflection in them. Jon - Aegon VI - on the other hand, handled it himself. Lacing his tunic, fastening the straps of his armor, and sheathing the twin blades to his hip. Longclaw, the Lightbringer, and Blackfyre, the blade of Aegon the Conqueror. It calmed him while doing so, gave him a small sense of control while also a sense of privacy.

Yet for the first time since Ollie had betrayed him, Jon was not alone while preparing for battle. Armor plate clinking together as he walked across the tent, Jon wrapped his hands around Dany's waist. Pressing his chin on her shoulder and joining her to peer into the mirror. "You are so beautiful."

"Mmmmm…" Dany leaned back into her husband. Feeling a warmth spreading through her as his hands splayed across the swell of their children. "You aren't so bad yourself, my dragonwolf." Black curls let loose across his shoulders, wolf and dragon swords strapped to his hip, Targaryen sigil and Stark direwolf both emblazoned on his armor. He was a conqueror reborn, one that made Dany hunger for him - even though they had made love for the second time that morning only half an hour before.

Jon pressed a kiss to Dany's exposed neck, earning a purr. "Need some help?"

She nodded. "That would be nice."

Grabbing Dany's breastplate, specially forged for a woman in a 'delicate' condition, Jon gingerly slid it over her head and to her shoulders. "You don't have to do this, my love."

"I do." Daenerys burned with determination. "It must be me to face the monster that corrupted my child."

"He's my son as well, Dany." It seemed crazy to the person he had been, to be the father of dragons. Y_ou are a Targaryen, and a Stark_. The insanity of it all lessened by the day. He was a Targaryen, a dragonrider. There was nothing more right in the world - apart from loving her. "And you carry our children inside you."

Daenerys sighed, feeling the life force of her beloved children. "I know, but they will be safe." Jon began fastening the belt that contained Dark Sister around her waist. "I just know."

The King knew not to argue. They had argued enough over it. "Alright, my love. I trust you." She smiled through the mirror. Gods, Daenerys Targaryen was a vision to him - silky silver hair, shimmering violet eyes, and a face sculpted by the gods themselves. "I am so lucky to have you, Daenerys."

Turning, Daenerys beamed at her beloved husband. "It is I who is the lucky one." Fisting the raven locks in her fingers, she drew him in for a passionate kiss - their mouths moulding together as Jon pushed her against a large chest. Taking their fill of each other.

Half an hour later, the Small council watched them emerge from their tent. Daenerys running fingers through her hair and Jon hitching his belt. "Took your sweet time, your Graces?" Davos teased, while Missandei, Howland Reed, and Tyrion shared knowing smirks.

"Shut it," Jon shot back as both monarchs walked by their advisors. Cloaks billowing and armor glinting in the sun - looking every inch the Targaryen conquerors they were. "As soon as we're off, take the army and march to King's Landing."

"It may be a trap," Tyrion mused, thinking of the stench of roasted flesh at the Goldroad. "Drogon could destroy us all at one command from Euron Greyjoy."

Giving him a withering stare, Daenerys halted as Rhaegal landed just yards in front of them. The most unforgivable and awe-inspiring backdrop. "There is no need to worry, Lord Tyrion. Drogon will be saved by the end of the day, and the heads of Cersei Lannister and Euron Greyjoy will be on pikes - if I don't burn them first." Not letting him respond, she began to climb Rhaegal's spines.

Jon nodded. "Proceed no matter what. Come hells or high water, this war ends tonight." He followed his wife, Rhaegal letting out a roar before ascending to the heavens.

"Good luck, your Graces," Tyrion said softly. "I have the feeling this will be the toughest battle of their lives."

Missandei was grim. "Two parents and one child facing off against the other child. If her Grace doesn't die herself, her heart will break to lose her dragon." She felt Grey Worm wrap a hand around her. "That being said, I hope she finds that monster soon."

"With their luck," Davos opined. "It's Euron that will find them."

* * *

Sea spray bathing him in the refreshing smell and taste of salt, Euron felt right at home. The wilds of the oceans, his for the taking. The dozens of great ships of the Iron Fleet, stretched out for all to see - the might of the Iron Islands prepared to seek their glory. He felt on top of the world, his cunning and strength having brought him here. Eyes wide and manic, he turned on the stern of his ship the Silence, looking out at his loyal crew.

"My Lords! My men! Today begins the new era of Westeros!" Cheers broke out, guttural shouts of hundreds of ironborn warriors. They were the best of the best. Crack Ironborn warriors, loyal Lords that had stuck with Euron from his ascension to the Salt throne, reavers from every city and holdfast the world over, his own silenced berserkers that had earned Euron's 'special treatment.' All gathered upon the Silence. The spearhead of his army, one that would secure him the Seven Kingdoms.

Grinning like a maniac - the perfect show for the sheep, who just ate it up - he pumped his fists in the air. "They call us pirates. They call us scum! They call us unfit to grace civilization unless one of those mainland cunts needs a navy - need someone to give their enemies the Iron Price! Well, it's time that they learn the Iron Price!"

"Fuck them all, your Grace!" screamed one of his top marine commanders. A man that had joined him in boarding dozens of vessels in the years of his exile - and plenty of vessels during the war on behalf of Cersei Lannister. "We'll rip through their capitol like my lance through a maiden's cunt." That drew added cheers. Men being men and sailors being sailors. .

Smirking, Euron looked up at the sky. A light cloud cover draped over Blackwater Bay, the slightest drizzle splattering them with water. It felt invigorating. "No, we shant rape or burn or reave." The smirk widened as his men went silent. Shocked by what he said. Slamming his fist on the railing, Euron laughed. "We will make them beg me to rule them. We will make them welcome us as liberators. They will offer their gold, their food, their drink, their pussy to us willingly with the utmost gratitude on their stupid fucking faces! The reign of King Euron the Great begins today, in the everlasting hellfires the Septon cunts preach day in and day out!"

A roar echoed over the entire fleet. Ships rocking as a giant black beast shot past their masts. Euron stepped back, his men staring in awe when Drogon landed upon the stern of the Silence. Eyes blood red and smoke emanating from his nostrils and clenched teeth.

Chuckling darkly, Euron walked up to the beast, rubbing his hand over his jaw. Instead of burning him to a crisp, the dragon calmed for his new master. "It begins now, brothers!"

Shock beginning to wear off, the men cheered again. Cheering for their great King, the one who mounted a dragon.

Climbing up Drogon's spines, Euron continued to play his part. "The Dragon Whore and her bastard brings death by fire. The Golden Bitch brings death by fire. But the Ironborn bring the waves that extinguish the fire. As Harwyn Hardhand so brought the Iron Price to the Rivers, so too will Euron the Great and his men bring the Iron Price to all the Seven Kingdoms. What is dead may never die!"

"What is dead may never die!"

Tipping his head back, Drogon roared loud enough to be heard in King's Landing itself.

**A/N: Euron is his own warning. He's finally got his diabolical plan set, proving once again that random people on the internet with too much time on their hands can write better than Dipshit and Dumbfuck. [Check out the latest article on Forbes by ****Dani Di Placido. It basically confirms all of what we've been saying.**

**The Sansa/Dany confrontation that we really deserved. Dany won't forgive easily, but ultimately family is family.**

**If I can get 30 reviews, I'll update on Friday :D**

**Next time, the Battle Above King's Landing.**


	18. Ch 18: A Dragon's Dance

**A/N: And we've come to the beginning of the final battle for King's Landing!**

**Be sure to check out my new story My Father's Son, as well as my adopted story the Last Hope For Westeros. It shall be getting new updates soon :D**

**Enjoy and comment!**

Chapter 18: A Dragon's Dance

Another day under siege dawned in King's Landing. It was a city not unfamiliar with war and carnage. The sack by Tywin Lannister's forces during Robert's Rebellion, resulting in countless atrocities and looting. The War of the Five Kings, where food shortages and riots gripped the population. Stannis' assault upon the riverfront walls and the carnage that had followed. Cersei setting off the Sept of Baelor in a conflagration of wildfire, leaving the neighborhoods around Visenya's Hill in blackened ruins. All acclimated the denizens of the capitol to death and terror.

But nothing like this. Months and months of starvation rations and brutal occupation had left the city on the brink of collapse. Food hoarded within large warehouses or hidden basements, even the mere hint of a food cheat would bring a mob ripping down the hinges and tearing the poor family limb from limb. The streets were lined with condemned wretches hanging from crudely constructed gallows. Executed for any reason at all, sanctioned by the reign of Cersei the Mad Queen.

The day began as any other in the city on the edge, but little did the starving citizens know that the bright and sunny morning would bring a far worse fate for them. A far worse carnage.

Such realization began as a black shape shot overhead. One seemingly a bird, or a bat - but some found this inaccurate. Shape far too big to be either, growing and growing as it seemed to dive. Beginning to circle over the city. A minute seemed to pass before confused stares turned into wide eyed terror. A dragon!

The Targaryens had arrived!

Crews raced for their scorpions, only for the dragon to immolate them in fast, precise strikes. As if the rider knew exactly where they were. Soldiers and smallfolk alike ran from the walls, many spotting a silver-haired figure atop the massive black dragon as it shot by, searching for Lannister military targets. None of the scorpions were able to fire a shot before immolating in dragonfire, soon all the walls awash in flame. Enemies neutralized with fire and blood.

Slamming onto the top of the ruined gatehouse, Drogon's great bulk extinguished the remaining flames. Head stabbing out in an ear-splitting roar that shook roofs and shattered windows all over the city. Proclaiming himself unstoppable, channeling the pride and arrogance of the rider that sat astride his shoulder. Dark magic of the dragonbinder overwhelming Drogon's mind and soul, struggling to break free of the mystical cage trapping him inside.

_Muna! Kepa! Help me!_ Had he been human, he'd be sobbing, great dragon no more than a scared child wanting the mother and father he rejected in his despair. Please… I'm sorry!

Strapped to his belt, Euron brought a smaller horn to his lips. Brushing aside the bleached silver-blonde wig planted on his scalp - a disguise that would fool no one up close, but from a distance looked like a Valyrian dragonrider - he took the device, smeared with his own blood and that of the dragon's. Touched to his lips, he blew it hard. Filling the air with a crooning that further forced Drogon under Euron's power and control. A dragon easier to hold in bondage than to enslave. His lungs began to singe, only for a medicinal tonic developed by his own shamans and warlocks to soothe it.

Agony surged through Drogon, as if he could feel the burning of the flames he produced. Flattening his own soul, the malevolence tightening its hold on his body...

Euron Greyjoy thought of everything. "HA HA!" he bellowed in laughter. "I love it when I win!"

Gazing over the greatest city in Westeros, the true King of everything took in the hundreds of thousands of people. Each of their lives in his hands. With a mere command he could wipe out their very existence, and such knowledge coursed through him like all the lightning of a winter's gale upon Pyke. He was King, he was master, he was a god…

"Fire and blood, you fucking shits!" He clutched to the spines tightly. "Fly!" Drogon roared and took aloft over the city. "Burn them all!" With a sudden explosion of heat, deagonfire lanced from his maw to immolate what would be the first true casualties of the coming reign of the Kraken.

Having poured himself a glass of wine, Qyburn watched all of this from his perch looking over the city. Enjoying a moment of rest and quiet contemplation. "Lieutenant?" he called to his aide, waiting at the doorway to the chamber.

"Yes, Lord Hand?" asked the nervous Goldcloak. They supposedly fought for Cersei, but it was Qyburn who paid them and fed them. Armed thugs and scared boys knew who deserved their loyalty.

"Execute Case Seven."

The lieutenant blinked, in disbelief to what the Hand of the Queen said. "Case Seven? But the people…"

"Her Grace has given the order, and we did not calculate our defenses failing so spectacularly." The former Maester was good with words, and with logic. A few lies tossed in here and there and the arguments were greatly coherent. "For the Realm to survive, Queen Cersei determines there must be a sacrifice." Already, Euron was unleashing dragonfire among the civilians of the Fishmarket, smoke and flame rising over the city. "Execute Case Seven."

What else could one say? "At once, Lord Hand."

A mere five minutes later, the red-orange flames were joined by brilliant green. The smile on Qyburn's face nearly split his skull. "Perfection." He sipped at his wine, it being the sweetest in his lifetime.

* * *

There was something freeing in riding dragonback. Being able to witness the earth below, grasp a view only reserved for the birds and the gods… and the dragonriders. Jon never knew why he had denied it for so long. Felt the pain of not knowing his true self most acutely while on Rhaegal's back. Wind whipping through his hair and brooding thoughts drowned out by the roar of flight. Ygritte and Tormund had said that a man was most free at the top of the wall, unburdened by oaths and duties. They were wrong.

A man was most free while riding their dragon, answering not to men or gods.

Letting Rhaegal dive shallowly, Jon whooped. "Whoooooo!"

Behind him, snuggled against his back and hands wrapped around his waist - leaving a pleasurable tingle in their wake - Dany laughed in pure joy. "You were born for this, my dragonlord." She kissed the back of his neck, sending more tingles.

"Rhaegal has ruined horses for me." He could almost hear annoyance in Rhaegal's resulting hoot. The dragons had personalities much like humans, and Jon enjoyed deciphering each of them. "I enjoy riding both of my dragons."

Dany immediately slapped him. "Such uncouth manners, Aegon."

Laughing, he commanded Rhaegal to level out. In the distance he could just spot the massive bulk of King's Landing. "I had to learn something in the Night's Watch." _Night's Watch…_ Left to rot there like a common criminal, just like Lord Bloodraven. _At least he managed to have a life among his Targaryen family… unlike me…_

His wife sensed his mood almost instantaneously. "Jon, my love. What's wrong?"

"I could have had it all, Dany." He sighed, hating to be sentimental and weak, especially in these times. "Grown up a prince, with my mother, father, siblings… you." Gods, he could have been betrothed to Dany from the start. "Never have had to live a lie. Live as a bastard…"

"Please, my love. Don't." Her heart broke for him. "If you look back, you are lost." Dany pressed another kiss to his neck. "We are here. We are married. Our babes grow in my belly and we are about to retake our birthright." Even so close to him, she couldn't believe everything that had happened - that they had survived. "The monsters did their best to seperate the dragons, but they clawed their way across the known world to find each other again."

As always, she knew exactly how to calm his pain. "I love you, Daenerys."

"I love you too, Jon. So much." And that's where they rested in silence for the next few minutes. Just enjoying each other's touch and the calm thrill of dragonriding…

Only to spot greasy black pyres of smoke billowing into the sky from the growing speck before them. "Seven hells…" Jon murmured. "That's one massive fire…"

The roar carried over even to them, Rhaegal suddenly growing frantic as he answered with a pleading shriek. Flight pattern growing erratic. "Jon! Hold on!" Dany tightened her grip, Dark Sister clattering wildly against her leg and Rhaegal's scales.

Jon willed his mind into his connection with Rhaegal. _Boy, please. Calm down._

_It's Drogon!_ Rhaegal's proclamation made Dany and Jon go white. _He's in pain, terrible pain! The Ironborn monster is making him do evil things!_ Below, a tongue of red-orange dragonfire lanced out from a black speck upon the now enlarged layout of the great capitol city of Westeros. Scorching entire city blocks in moments as it passed by.

"Oh no…" Jon breathed.

"Drogon!" The sharp pain of his entire body filled Daenerys. The malevolence, deep and biting, drawn from a magic ancient and dark. "Euron is commanding my child on a rampage of death!" Close to crying, Dany willed for the rage to bubble up. The white hot anger that could command her to the most vicious of actions. _Euron will die for this!_

And in one wave, half a dozen points across the city detonated in a towering inferno of green fire. Immolating homes, shops, people into ash and rubble. Shaking even Rhaegal, shockwaves reaching into the clouds. _Cersei!_ As Euron attacked from the sky, Cersei destroyed from the ground. Both seemingly determined to leave only a pile of ashes for he and Daenerys to rule over.

Not if they had anything to say about it. _DIVE!_

With a roar that even the gods would hear, Rhaegal looped in the air and charged in a steep dive. Straight for his own brother.

* * *

The walls of the Red Keep rocked from the distant explosions. Dust showering over Cersei as she stepped through the corridors. Increasing her pace, struggling to keep up with her Kingsguard and not wishing to be frogmarched yet again. Out of the corner of her eyes, massive fireballs of green flame expanded into the sky, intermixed with the great black dragon destroying whole blocks of King's Landing in each attack run. "Who gave the order to launch Case Seven!" she screamed at Ser Mandon Moore, literally shaking from rage.

_It was not supposed to happen this way._ The wildfire caches all over the city were only to go off if the Targaryen Army had entered the gates. Both dragons flying over their heads.

Ser Mandon trembled under his armor. Not prepared for such chaos - such threats of death. "Your… your Grace… only yourself… or the Lord Hand… can give the order…"

"Shut up, blithering fool!" She couldn't stand another panicked idiot - but he did speak an important truth. "I will be going to the Tower of the Hand."

"But your Grace…" It was imperative that if she was to survive, she'd need to get to the prepositioned skiff within Maegor's Holdfast.

Cersei threw up a hand, silencing him. "I said, I will be going to the Tower of the Hand." With Ser Gregor towering over them, none of the Kingsguard cared to disagree with their Queen's orders.

Sweat poured down her dress, soaking her skin in the intense gusts of heat and smoke blowing from the inferno that gripped the city, Cersei ached all over. Clutching her stomach as her tender womb stung and stabbed with pain, only iron will and pure anger forcing her up the stairs. A close by detonation of a wildfire cache sent shock waves slamming into the tower, bits of rock spraying everywhere and causing one of the Kingsguard - which one Cersei couldn't care less about - pitch over the railing and fall thirty feet headfirst to his death. Undaunted, Cersei pressed on.

She found him in his personal solar, seated atop a simple wooden chair and swirling an empty goblet. Completely still and humming a song quietly. Panting from the exertion, Cersei nevertheless stared at her Hand with a fury surpassing that of the conflagration outside. "Ah, your Grace. Come to see the show from the best view in the city?" Gingerly, Qyburn's bony hands reached down to grab a flagon of the arbor gold, pouring himself another cup.

"Why did you authorize Case Seven without my knowledge," Cersei hissed. Gesturing out to the city. Growing awash in flames and filled with the screams of the running and dying smallfolk. "You had no right!"

"The dragon was assaulting our city. Destroyed our defenses. It had to be done immediately.

The fact he didn't even turn around only spiked her rage. "You follow my orders! MY ORDERS! No one else's!" Shriek hurting her still sore throat, she paused to gulp in a breath of the fresh sea air wafting in from Blackwater Bay - likely some of the last clean gusts for a long time given the ash that would soon coat the very city like a snowfall. Another glance at the destruction. "At least the dragon bitch will die."

Qyburn chuckled, drinking more of the sparkling liquid. "I'm afraid it is Lord Greyjoy that rides the beast. He does it well, as if he was a Valyrian dragonlord in a past life."

Cersei's jaw dropped. Eyes widening at the dragon, currently unleashing fury upon the Street of Silk. "But… he killed the black dragon! How can he ride one?!" Suddenly out of nowhere came a green dragon, hurtling out of the sky straight for the black one… Euron. The Ironborn dragonbinder managed to bank out of the way at the last moment, trail of death paused as the green one - the Stark Bastard - gave chase. Further green gouts of flame erupting into the sky. Incinerating the once great avenue of beautiful homes and luxury shops.

"He is smart, he should find a way… You don't expect him to be loyal, especially when I promised him the Iron Throne if he burned the city for me. Add in making it look like the Dragon Queen did it, only for the Dragon Queen and her Dragonwolf King to show up is… perfection in the making." Qyburn raised the goblet to the destruction, a veritable pastel of glowing color that engulfed tens of thousands of people.

It took a moment for his words to comprehend to her. "What?" Cersei ground out, her voice taking a low, menacing quality. Forward strode the Kingsguard, taking positions to protect their monarch.

The disgraced maester didn't answer his Queen directly. "Did you know how I got this scar on my throat? I doubt Jaime told you." Finishing the drink, he sighed pleasantly, knowing it would all be over soon. "I was sent by the Citadel to Harrenhal, likely to get rid of me. It was occupied by Ser Gregor, back when he was still your father's mad dog. When Edmure Tully so foolishly attacked, Gregor torched the place and put the smallfolk to the sword. All of them, including me."

"Boo hoo for you," Cersei sneered dismissively. The city detonating in the background.

"Robb Stark's Queen saved me. An angel that saved my life when House Lannister tried to take it away so indiscriminately. The woman that your father had killed in the most brutish way." He chuckled. "It took me so long, but I finally have my vengeance. Making sure it was you and not the Tyrells that faced Daenerys. Helping her and your son flee. Ordering your army into certain death, and now…" A merry laugh left his lips, raising his hands in wonder at a plan successful beyond his wildest dreams. "Every dream you had crumbling in a maze of fire!"

The Queen had enough. "Ser Gregor!" Without her even needing to elaborate, the Mountain hefted Qyburn into the air by the back of his neck. Meaty fingers ready at the drop of a hat to simply squeeze and snap the bones. "You will die, traitor! You will burn in the everlasting hellsfires for betraying your Queen."

Even struggling to breathe, Qyburn refused to beg. Refused to break. Refused to let his gleeful smile die. "Your line will die. Your name will be that of a monster. Your own surviving child… will be raised by another. In this, I shall be at peace." At a single nod from Cersei, Ser Gregor hefted Qyburn by his feet and slammed his head into the wall. The same as he had the young Prince Aegon Targaryen over two decades before. Blood and brains splattering all over the Tower of the Hand as the reign of the false maester ended as spectacularly as it had begun.

She had imagined she'd be satisfied with the traitor's death… but alas, Cersei still felt empty. Turning back to the city awash with flame, all she could think of was disappointment that the order to light the wretched place ablaze was not from her lips.

* * *

Teeth bared in an angry snarl, Euron felt the rage course through his veins. The wildfire… he wasn't bothered by it. Drogon's unburnt scales provided the perfect protection, and it only shortened the time he needed to burn down the wretched city… an icon to House Targaryen, who had destroyed the Iron Islands mainland empire just as it had begun to expand to new heights. To raze it to the ground as a symbol just as Aegon the Conqueror did to Harrenhal. No, the wildfire was a welcome development.

But the arrival of the green cunt wasn't. Wig blowing away in the wind, revealing Euron in all his glory, the Stark bastard and his whore just dealt his plan a massive setback. _I'll just burn all of them to the ground!_ Kill the entire population of the shit city… starting with Jon and Daenerys Targaryen. Glancing behind him, the faster Rhaegal hot on Euron's heels with furious bursts of dragonfire - Drogon dodging both these and the fountianing detonations of wildfire that erupted into the sky - he gripped Drogon's spines tight.

"Slave! Loop!"

_I AM NO SLAVE!_ But Drogon was powerless to resist. Thundering his wings, shooting vertically into a powerful loop. Passing over Rhaegal and his parents, roaring all the while until he settled behind Euron's foes. Blast of dragonfire narrowly missing Rhaegal's wing and impacting on the buildings below as the tables turned.

Feeling the flames close to singing his cloak, Jon booked for the Red Keep. Sandstone walls built by his ancestors the highest point in the city. Wind slamming into his face as he kept jinking and weaving out of a perfect line of fire. The great castle came into view. _Aim for the tower, boy. "Dracarys!"_

Rhaegal shuddered midair as the tongue of flame shot out. Crashing through the bricks holding the Tower of the Hand - now deserted at the urging of Cersei's Kingsguards. It groaned, unbroken walls falling straight down and shearing against the destroyed base. Slowly, surely, it toppled over as Rhaegal yawed low to the left. Directly in Euron's flightpath.

The ironborn had quick reflexes, ordering Drogon in a hard yaw. Shooting to the right as bricks showered upon him, Drogon letting out a pained roar. "Fuck you, slave! Faster!" Euron blew the horn again, punishing the dragon and reinforcing his control. Drogon shrieked in pain and rage, flying faster. Nearly erupting around the bend of Aegon's High Hill to descend on Rhaegal from above. Only frantic maneuvering from the lighter dragon saving Jon and Daenerys from their enslaved son's deadly grip.

"He's fully under Euron's control!" Daenerys half yelled, half sobbed as they leveled out over the city.

_Mother… he's in there… under the magic._ Rhaegal could hear him. Faintly, but his brother was there, struggling to get out as the malevolence made him lance a jet of flame at them. Green dragon dodging out of the way, knowing that unlike poor Viserion, Drogon was only chained and controlled, not killed. _You must break the bond of the dark magic._

_"Only the blood of the true bond can break the curse."_ Bran's words hitting Dany's mind. She looked at Dark Sister clipped to her, and back to Drogon, red eyes evil as they bored in on them. _I must use my blood…_ Such sounded what Bran meant. _But how…_

Jon suddenly brought Rhaegal into a tight turn. "I'm gonna kill that motherfucker!" Bellowing a wildling war cry, Jon braced himself as Rhaegal slammed into Drogon from below. Dragons tangling into a writhing and scrambling mess of wings, talons, and teeth.

Weakened as he was from the hold of the magic, Drogon's greater size was its own quality. Talons and jaws delivering far more force than Rhaegal's, inflicting greater damage than his green brother. Rhaegal shrieked with pain, wings flapping wildly as he tried to break off. He lashed back with a furious assault of his jaws. Snapping at Drogon's shoulder, drawing deep gouges of blood and a roar from the black dragon.

"Fuck you!" yelled Euron, thrusting at the Rhaegal's head with his own longsword. "Grab him! Grab the cunt!" Compelled by dark magic to follow his orders, Drogon's talons swiped at Rhaegal. Claws sliding on the green scales. Pitching his lower half, wings beating hard, the second assault clawed into Rhaegal's belly. Sinking deep and cracking several ribs, piercing scream from the smaller dragon's maw resonating over the city like the sounds of thousands of dead and dying. Further wingbeats sent Rhaegal slamming into several buildings. Crumbling them under the weight of the great beasts.

Jon gritted his teeth, holding on for dear life as rubble showered around him. Rhaegal's pain was his pain. Rhaegal's terror was his, subject to the additional fear of Daenerys gripping his waist tightly. One wrong move and off the side she would go, falling to her death and the death of their unborn babes.

_"Rhaegal! Dracarys!"_

At the command, Rhaegal reared back his head and let loose a torrent of dragonfire at point blank range. Drogon unaffected by the heat but knocked back by the blast wave. Tight grip of the talons broken as Euron angled the beast between himself and the inferno. The only one among the three human combatants that did not bear unburnt blood.

Righting himself, Rhaegal began to gain altitude. Taking advantage of the hesitation of his larger brother. "Jon!" screamed Dany over the explosion of another cache of wildfire. "We need to go higher!" She knew what they had to do. Against the stronger dragon, they needed height.

His beloved was far more versed in dragonback tactics than he. Nodding, praying to every deity that he knew for this to work, Jon slammed his palm against Rhaegal's scales. "Climb, boy! Climb!" The dragon obeyed immediately, wings blasting clouds of dust and smoke in every which way as he rocketed into the sky.

Shaking the ringing from his head, Euron zeroed his gaze on the escaping Rhaegal. "Oh no you don't, dragon cunts!" They didn't get to escape. His new world had many things, and the last survivors of House Targaryen weren't one of them. "Time to add another dragon to my control." He brought the control horn and blew into it, coaxing a roar from Drogon. "Climb, slave!"

Compelled irresistibly, Drogon aimed for his smaller brother and charged into the sky.

**A/N: And we finally see Qyburn's endgame. All a huge revenge plot. **

**If King's Landing was to be destroyed, Cersei or Euron doing it is actually plausible.**

**Next time, Arya, Gendry, and the Hound.**


	19. Ch 19: A Dragon's Blood

**A/N: Hi everyone. Sorry this took so long, but it's here!**

**I have been sworn in as a licensed attorney in the State of Texas!**

**Be sure to check out my new story My Father's Son, as well as my adopted story the Last Hope For Westeros (now fully caught up on fanfiction). It shall be getting new updates :D**

**Also, there's a new story I read called From the Ashes Begin Anew by ****bykim0120**** \- it's an alternate telling of Aegon's Conquest and it's really, really good! Check it out!**

**Enjoy and comment!**

Chapter 19: A Dragon's Fire

If King's Landing was shit before…

An intense rumble that shook the very tunnel dug deep into Aegon's High Hill nearly sent Arya falling over herself. Only a quick catch of her arm by her rekindled lover kept her upright. "Thanks," she mumbled sweetly to Gendry, finding her feet again.

Before he could respond the rather booming voice of the Hound took up all conversation in the tunnel. "Less fuckin' more runnin'! I'm not losing my brother to any swords but mine!"

Arya rolled her eyes, but listened. Both she and Gendry picking up the pace while clutching firmly to their weapons - they were at the point where hostile guards were a possibility, and by now the only population of the Red Keep were scared servants and whatever thugs Cersei kept to protect her. Better to run into the former with weapons than the latter without them.

Another crash rumbled through Aegon's High Hill. Massive enough to shake even the Red Keep itself. "Dear gods," murmured the bastards smith turned Lord Paramount. "Is Euron destroying the whole city?" From what they had heard, Arya wouldn't put it past him. They were all covered with soot and dust from the conflagrations from both Daenerys' black dragon and the stores of Cersei's wildfire.

"Fuck that, how'd he get a fucking dragon?" Arya was suddenly shushed by the Hound, perking his unburnt ear towards the ceiling of the tunnel. The wild wolf of Winterfell scowled until she heard it to. Even deep underground, she could pick up the thundering screech of two dragons attacking each other. Fireballs slamming into the castle above followed by intense crashes. A wolfish smile curved on her lips. "Jon and Daenerys are here! They've brought the other dragon!"

"Doesn't help us worth a damn! You take point, girl, come on!"

Maegor the Cruel had instructed the architects and stonemasons to build the tunnels under the Red Keep to his liking, and then slaughtered them all so that only he would know its secrets - just in case the Royal Family needed to escape. From her adventures, Arya knew them like the back of her hand and guided them through. Past every dead end and booby-trapped pit. Going through the cave-like tunnels and to the paved stone of the more designed parts. Ahead of them loomed the dragon skulls.

Holding up a hand, Arya flattened against the basement wall, Sandor and Gendry joining her against the clammy rock. They crept forward, careful for their felt-lined boots not to make a noise. Gradually, they heard it. Scuffing against the ground and the clinking of chain mail - and voices not long after. "You sure it's safe down here?"

"If the tunnels are fuckin' caving in, then the whole damn place is dead! And I don't want to be fighting for the Mad Queen when she blows this whole place up!" Arya looked up at Sandor who looked down at Gendry. Sure enough, four goldcloaks came into view, armor mismatched and only one wearing a helmet. They had fled in a hurry. "Any one of you fuckin' idiots know where the sea is?"

"Gotta be here somewhere, we can catch a boat out of 'ere!"

"Stormlands are cryin' for my name!" one laughed, his arms free of weapons and instead clutching two bags filled with gold and jewelry looted from the population. "Find a sweet lass with a plump arse and…" He was cut off when Gendry erupted from hiding and caved the Goldcloak's face in with his warhammer.

The fight was less a fight and more a slaughter. Taken by surprise, none of the guards stood a chance. Another fell with a swing of Sandor's sword, cleaving him in two followed by sickening punch to the temple to the supposed boatman. Cracking his skull and sending him sprawling to the ground. The leader scrambled to remove his sword but found Arya stabbing Needle through his soft palate. As Polliver did so long ago, blood gurgled through his windpipe, flooding his lungs and slowly drowning him. Flopping to the ground in a bloody, frothy mess wriggling in death throes. It was easier for Gendry several feet, his warhammer vaporizing the chest cavity of the final Goldcloak.

Arya wiped Needle's blade on the leader's tunic. "The best thugs food rations can buy," she spat with disgust.

"Still got your moves, girl," snorted Sandor, motioning them forward.

Leaving the guards where they were, the trio began running. "Stealth ain't a fuckin' option now," Gendry stated, legs pumping as they were drawn into the Red Keep proper. Past the mothballed dragon skulls and towards the stairs out of the cellar.

"No shit, Jaehaerys. Stop talking and fucking move!" Arya smacked Gendry on his shoulders, urging him to shut up about the obvious and keep running. Already, the pungent smell of greasy smoke and burnt flesh were permeating the entire corridors. Fighting to keep from puking over the floor, she nearly didn't see the guards exiting the stairwells.

They were arguing with each other. "Leave the Kingslayer. Fuck all the Lannisters…" Both were killed quickly, Arya slitting the talking one's throat with Catspaw while the Hound grabbed the other's skull and smashed it against the wall.

Gendry refused to move afterwards. "Do you have a fuckin' death wish?!" Sandor demanded.

"Jaime Lannister is down there," he replied.

"So?"

"We should free him."

Arya stared at her lover, wide-eyed. "That traitor? Fuck that!"

"He'll know the way around here."

"So do I, stupid."

"I appreciate the bedroom talk, but can we get a move on?" Sandor hissed.

The Wild Wolf ignored him. "Let's go, Gendry."

"I know you know your way around, but do you know where Cersei might be hiding?" Arya didn't answer, the bullheaded smith having a point. "After me."

Scrambling down the stairs, they were guided to the cell by a jailer who had pissed his pants and complied when Arya put Catspaw to his throat and demanded to know where Jaime Lannister was. The hound knocked him out with one punch and grabbed the keys, opening the door. "Feeling like slitting my throat before the dragons burn me to death," came the bored voice.

"If I were to kill you, I'd probably leave you to the damn dragons."

Blinking, looking up from his filthy, matted cot, Jaime found himself surprised to see Arya Stark in the flesh. "Lady Stark…"

"She's not a fucking Lady," Gendry barked.

_Gods, I love that man._ Instead of push him against the wall and kiss him senseless like she wanted to do, Arya grabbed Jaime by the scruff of his neck and yanked him from the cell. "We're going to kill your cunt of a sister before she finishes the job and burns the city to the ground. Where is she?!"

To her surprise, the Kingslayer didn't complain or try to reason with them. He merely picked up the sword dropped by the jailer and spun it in his left hand. "Probably in the Throne Room, waiting for something to happen."

"Good, she's mine."

"Nope, not-Lady Stark." Jaime shook his head as they began moving. "I'll kill her myself." Both Gendry and Sandor groaned as that started off another round of arguments, all four of them racing for the throne room.

Ironically, where the Lannister Dynasty had begun would be where it ended.

* * *

A sound not seen since the Dance of Dragons echoed over the skies of the Crownlands. Dueling roars, pale blue skies marred in tongues of flame. Soot and smoke from the giant pyre that King's Landing had become blinding the eyes of dragon and dragonrider alike. Fluffy clouds serenely blowing over the landscape were vaporized by dragonfire. Battles between Sunfyre and Vhagar with Meleys had nearly wiped out the Targaryens long before, and now both remaining souls of the once great House of the Dragon found themselves clashing with their own dragon - turned on them by the magic of Old Valyria.

"Faster, boy!" Jon yelled, hooking an arm around Rhaegal's spine as he yawed to the right. A gout of dragonfire shot past the green dragon, directly in the path of where he had just been flying.

_'That was too close, kepa.'_

Glancing back, Jon saw the massive black beast bearing towards them. Contorting in the air as he moved his serpentine form around to reorient in Rhaegal's flight pattern. "Stay ahead of him, my child." Even with Drogon's power seemingly weakened by the blood magic Euron Greyjoy used to take control, the Black Dread Reborn still was stronger and held more fire than the King's Fury - but the King's Fury had the advantage of speed and was putting it to the test. "Find cloud cover." Rhaegal hooted and obeyed, Jon closing his eyes to keep the blinding wind out of them.

Another blow of Euron's horn, unaffecting him due to the blood connection the actual dragonbinder still attached to his lead ship _Silence_. Drogon roared over the howling winds. It brought pain to Daenerys' ears - to Jon's as well from his grimace and even to the little ones nestled in her womb from the way they kicked and tumbled, but it was worse for her. Her beautiful Drogon, hated by most but the purest soul in her eyes, gripped by a malevolence as old as her people. Twisted from the noble, fearsome grandeur into nothing but a grotesque monster. Exactly what the propaganda said he was.

And yet, a faint voice could be heard over the rage and poison. _Muna… please help me!_

It slammed into her like a fist to her gut. As well as the image of Euron's grinning face as he continued to hold onto the most powerful living being - her son. "Fuck! Jon, we have to attack!" she screamed at him.

Rhaegal jolted, pitching up as he zig zagged to avoid presenting Euron with an easy target. "Easier said than done," Jon shot back, gritting his teeth at the frantic movements. Rubbing his eyes and thanking the gods that they had climbed above the singeing black smokeclouds. The fire burned in him too, wanting to rip Euron limb from limb… but unlike the Night King above Winterfell… No, they couldn't kill Drogon. _Fucking hells!_ He still had no idea what to do as Rhaegal shot into a massive cloud formation. Disappearing.

"Come out little dragons!" Euron bellowed, laughing. "Come out, come out wherever you are!"

Drogon thundered into the cloud, white wisps coating everything. Wingbeats brushed plenty aside but it was too massive to fight alone. Emerging into a large cavern in the middle of the trio of clouds, Euron's head whipped around just as the dragon's did, looking all around for a sign of the green dragon. But there was none. Just white puffs on a blue background, illuminated by the glittering waves of Blackwater Bay and the smoldering pyre of King's Landing.

"Where are you fucks?!" He started to get impatient, fist not clutching Drogon's spines clenching hard. "I'll make it quick if you come out now!" Euron shouted into the void. No response.

His sea-green eyes flashed with a power so intense it was close to madness. Surging through the magical connection between him and his slave. Filling the dark alt-soul that shrouded Drogon's actual one and driving it to further bloodlust and savagery. They were almost one being now, the intensity of the power of the dragon close to overwhelming. Valyrians had the strength of blood to control their urges, but Euron succumbed. Every person burned to ash adding to his frenzy. It was powerful, it was monstrous… it was everything Euron had chased for, lusted for his entire life.

Absolute power, so close for the taking, and all that stood in his way were the two Targaryen brats. "AAAAAAGGGGGH! BURN IT ALL!" Drogon's head reared back, red eyes close to glowing as the fire spewed from his maw to engulf everything around him.

To the moving Targaryen Army - vanguard only an hour's fast march to the Gate of the Gods - or the citizens of King's Landing not concerned with escaping the inferno engulfing their city, one look up at the sky found an awe-inspiring sight. Flames streaking through the pale blue sky. Light a fearsome dark orange rather than the gentle, calming yellow beams of the winter's sun. It almost felt as if the heat could be felt even the many miles away.

And then the enterprising few spotted the pale green dot streaking below the clouds, out of sight of the fire-breathing monster. Each of them raised their hands in a cheer, exhorting and praying their King and Queen victory upon this day as they were driven ever forward. Reinvigorated to reclaim the great capitol city from the clutches of the Mad Queen.

For as conspicuous that a massive dragon was, Rhaegal could be as silent as Ghost when he wanted to be. Hiding below the clouds while his enslaved brother unleashed the torrent of fire upon nothing at the behest of his master's rage, he followed Jon's command to hover in place. Blood from his still open wounds falling to the waters of Blackwater Bay. "Dany, what are we gonna do?"

Finally allowed a moment to think, Daenerys relayed what Bran had told them. "It's gonna sound mad, but you have to trust me."

"It is mad." Jon's brow was knotted in concern as Dany told him everything. His hands drifted to her armored stomach - where their babes were nestled. "You could die."

"I've covered for that… if it works." She pulled his face to hers in a searing kiss. "I'm his rider, Jon. Only I can do this." Her free hand rested on Dark Sister's hilt, as if emphasizing her point. "Drogon can't die."

There was no plan that could save Drogon otherwise, boxing Jon into a corner. "Rhaegal, you ready for this?"

_'Muna, kepa. It's time to save my brother.'_

_"Hepnon!"_

Euron's head burned with the rage consuming him. Urging more fire to scorch the very clouds around him. Willing to slash and burn the entire world to eliminate his last enemies. Even as Drogon's near bottomless well of fire began to slacken he couldn't stop himself. "You can't hide much longer, you little cunts!"

Suddenly Rhaegal slammed into Drogon's belly, teeth and claws snapping and slashing at the larger black dragon. The blood filling his mouth tasting like vile sewage. Rancid and burning, something fundamentally wrong in hurting the brother he so loved… "Rhaegal, go!" Thankfully, _kepa_'s order sent him off. Frantic wingbeats propelling him away from the massive thunderclap of Drogon's jaws snapping shut at his tail…

Just…

"Burn him!" screamed Euron, but the resulting blast of dragonfire was depleted. Half-hearted. Enough to scorch hundreds if on the ground but only half the distance. Blast unable to reach even the tip of Rhaegal's tail - cursing up a storm, Euron drew his short reaving blade as a symbolic gesture. "Fly, slave! Rip them apart!" Wings beating hard, Drogon began to rocket up into the air.

But the delay gave Rhaegal's already impressive advantage in speed a large boost. The King's Fury climbed faster and faster, wings straining and muscles burning in pure agony. Both riders held tightly, Dany's eyes buried on the still heated scales while Jon braved the stabbing pain and the black tinge on the outskirts of his vision, threatening to render him unconscious. _'Kepa, now!'_

He trusted Rhaegal's instincts. "Dive!" With one final beat of his wings, Rhaegal roared as he looped around. Wings folding into his body with the thunderous dive. Lining up directly with the black smudge of Drogon growing closer and closer. "Dany, brace yourself!" The Queen complied, angling her stomach away from Rhaegal as she hugged the scales tighter.

In spite of his size and power, the Black Dread Reborn staggered as Rhaegal crashed into him. Talons digging into his flesh. Wings extending again to continue the downward plunge, dragon knowing instinctively to aim directly for the Red Keep.

* * *

With the flames of the explosions and subsequent infernos growing closer and closer to the walls of the Red Keep, inside it was pandemonium. Servants dashed towards whatever shelter or exit they could, joined by Goldcloaks whose status as Crown-sanctioned thugs didn't exchange to dying fiery deaths, dropping their weapons and stripping off their armor while joining the exodus. The journey to the Throne Room was therefore wide open for the team now bolstered by one Kingslayer…

At least until arriving near the Throne Room itself. The survivors of the Queensguard still surrounded the entrance, pissing themselves but still loyal to the direct line of successors since King Robert of House Baratheon. Halting right in front of them, Arya looked the knights over in disgust. Never having ever sworn to the Targaryens, opportunistically moving from Baratheon to Lannister in the decades since the Rebellion. Men without honor - mere craven sadists as Meryn Trant was. "Put your weapons down, now," she growled. There was no response, hands on their swords. "Do it and I won't do to you what I did to Ser Meryn."

Four swords were drawn in quick succession. "Fuck off, girl!" Fat old Boros Blount laughed. Each heard of what happened to Ser Meryn, and a little girl playing at war causing his death was laughable. "If you leave us the Kingslayer maybe we'll forget we ever saw you."

"She'll fucking do it, Boros Bump," Sandor growled, using the derogatory nickname for the fat knight. "Just get. It's the Queen and my fucking brother we want."

"Go have sex with yourself, Sandor," Aerys Oakheart hissed back, brandishing Widow's Wail as an insult to Jaime - having taken it as a prize after Jaime's arrest. I say we kill the knights and fuck the girl… fuck the pretty boy as well," he grinned savagely at Gendry.

The Hound's eyes darkened. "I ain't no knight!" and he charged. Time for talking was over.

Stripped bare of armor and weakened by lack of food, the foursome was still far more skilled than the well armed, fed, and armored Queensguards. Each had spent most of their knightly lives beating up civilians on Joffrey or Cersei's orders, or simply feeding themselves from the spoils of the populace. Boros Blount's last true fight had been when Lyanna Stark unhorsed him during the Harrenhal Tourney and it showed. He lashed at Arya with his sword, the assassin darting to the side - dodging a high slice and coming under, stabbing forward with Needle through a gap in his armor. Blount snarled in pain, blood trickling from his wound but surging at Arya. Gloved hand backhanding her across the marbled floor.

Slash across his chest, Gendry gritted his teeth and slammed the dull end of his warhammer into the plated gut of his opponent. The Queensguard was protected but still staggered back. Wind knocked out of him - allowing the bastard lord the opening to cave his head in with a furious downward strike.

To the left, Jaime battled Aerys Oakheart, driven by pure hatred even in his weakened state. Left arm flailing with an unheard of dexterity against the unskilled Queensguard. But Oakheart had Valyrian steel on his side, strong parries stronger and stronger until his bulging muscles brought Widow's Wail down so strongly that they cleaved Jaime's rusted blade in two. "Any last words, Kingslayer?" he grinned.

Jaime noticed movement behind him. "Duck."

"Duck?"

That was Aerys Oakhearts' last words before Bronn stabbed a dagger through his throat. "I'm always saving your fuckin' ass, Lannister." You or your brother's.

"How'd you get in?" Jaime asked, picking up his sword off the ground. It felt good to have it back.

Bronn smirked. "You think anyone cares about people getting into the city anymore?" Most traffic was that of people trying to escape the massive food shortages. "Time to earn my fuckin' castle."

Arya's eyes widened as she tried to crawl away… to draw Catspaw, but a heavy foot pressed on her hand, causing her to cry out in pain. Suddenly, she was yanked up by her hair - brought face to face with the fat face of Boros Blount. "I almost had a chance to rape your redhead sister, but you'll do." _Gendry! Gendry, help me!_

Before he could even move, something grabbed at Boros, dragging him away and dropping Arya. She expected Gendry, but her lover was feet away caving another Mandon Moore's skull in. Instead, Sandor Clegane had a hand wrapped around Boros Blount's neck. "I hate rapists," he growled. "Lucky for me I also hate your fat ass." With a squeeze and tug, the Hound ripped out Boros' windpipe, leaving the knight a mere lump of meat. Behind him, another laid sprawled on the ground in a puddle of blood.

"Arry!" Gendry was by Arya's side, embracing her. "Please be more careful."

She wanted to yell at him, but couldn't - Gendry sounding so worried for her. "I'll try… stupid." They both smiled weakly.

"Are we moving or shittin' our pants?" Bronn barked.

"Fuck off," Sandor shot back. "Help me with this fuckin' door." He, Bronn, and Gendry heaved one of the massive ironwood and bronze doors open enough to let them all through. Arya wiped a sheen of sweat off her brow and looked at the Kingslayer. His lips pressed together in determination. _Time to fucking end this._

The Throne Room had changed little since Arya had been there last - still the dark, cavernous chamber with a high ceiling, blocked off windows, and large vats of burning oil that gave off its light - only with lions having replaced the stags as the sigils everywhere. What once had been elaborate murals depicting various Targaryen conquests had been scrubbed off and replaced with golden-haired Lannister heroes - all of which made Arya feel sick. Stealing the birthright of her brother and his beloved. Bile filled her throat at how she had spoken against Daenerys long ago, failing to trust Jon about the Dragon Queen.

Arya wouldn't make that mistake again.

At the head of the grand room facing the city was the Iron Throne. Sharp blades fanning out in the angry majesty that Aegon Targaryen hoped it would convey… blades soaked in the blood of all those that fought over it. And defiling the Targaryen relic was Cersei Lannister, anger blazing in her green eyes at the sight of the visitors. "Well, well. Arya Stark returns." She sipped at a goblet of wine. "And I see she freed my treasonous brother from the Black Cells." Beside her stood the Mountain, massive sword angled downward in a resting pose.

Proclaimed by Cersei to be the unofficial head of the party, she stepped forward. "All your guards are dead, Cersei. The city watch is fleeing, and your defenses are burning. Give up, and I'll make your death painless."

Her lip quivered, face reddening. "NO! This Throne is mine!" Cersei stood, stomping her foot on the floor like a petulant child. Eyes boring in on Jaime, realizing the truth of Maggie the Frog's premonition - the valonqar, Cersei had expected it to be Tyrion, but Jaime was her younger twin by seventeen minutes. "This is my crown! I bled and suffered for it!" Her voice turned shrill. "No valonqar will kill me, and the dragon bitch will find a city of ashes to greet her! Ser Gregor!"

In a league of his own in size and strength, the Mountain barrelled forward with a lumbering speed that shocked the fivesome. Arya darted out of the way only just, Gendry and Bronn batted aside by a meaty arm as Gregor Clegane gunned for his brother. While Jaime stood in a firm stance waiting to slash at the monster, Sandor bellowed at the top of his lungs and charged himself. Getting inside the swing zone of his brother's sword and smashing right into his chest. Two brawlers of House Clegane thundering, fists and knees flying.

The Hound was strong, but the Mountain was stronger as he pushed Sandor away - helmet ripped off of his head to reveal the demon he had become. "Fuck, brother. You've gotten even uglier." Saying nothing, Gregor raised his sword… only for Bronn to bury his dagger into his shoulder.

It didn't faze him. Sword swinging to force Bronn back - opening his shoulder to a hack from Widow's Wail, slicing through the plate armor and carving off a large chunk of meaty flesh. But an outstretched hand grabbed Jaime's arm and tossed him against a far off column.

Now it was only four to one.

Arya slid in, catspaw slicing through the meat of Gregor's thigh. It staggered him but didn't stop the behemoth. Sword cracking the marble where Arya's head had been only minutes before. Gendry buried his warhammer through the metal breastplate, cracking through flesh and bone, embedded in the plate… Qyburn's science experiment felt no pain… felt no fatigue. He was just getting started.

Coughing, spasms wracking his back and stomach from impacting into the column, Jaime struggled to pull himself upright. Letting the pain from the wounds and bruises from allowing the sweet embrace of death from taking him. Spitting blood onto the beautiful marble below him, a whiff of something caught his nostrils… a smell from so long ago, but one that Jaime would never forget.

_Wildfire._

Barrels of it, just waiting for a spark to set it off.

Starting to crawl to it, he was stopped as a dagger embedded itself into his shoulder. "Argh!" screamed the Kingslayer.

"Feel that, dear brother?" Cersei's voice was not that of the beautiful, sweet woman he had fallen for, nor even a mighty lioness protecting its pride… no, it was the same reptilian monstrosity the Mad King had became so long before. A madness and rage that had completely consumed her. "That is how my heart felt after your betrayal."

Spitting out another dribble of blood, he tried to block out the pain. "I'd flip you off, but I don't seem to have a hand thanks to you." The knife dug deeper, but Jaime gritted his teeth. "All of this… all of this shit, it all began because you couldn't stop being greedy. At least our son is safe… away from you."

The knife made its way to his neck. "Oh Jaime. The bitch from my childhood was wrong." _This is what she thinks of? She is truly lost._ "Maggy the Frog said you'd kill me, that Daenerys would take everything away from me, but she is wrong."

"Fuck you."

A dark chuckle. "You took my armies, my city, my child… you think I care?" In her other hand she produced a candle, wick lit and burning steadily. "No one will ever have what is mine. No one!" The laugh turned into a cackle as she raised it to throw into the wildfire cache…

Until the ceiling collapsed...

* * *

"Fuck! Fuck!" Euron held onto the Drogon's spine by the loop of his arm, straining to get a grip with his boots to right himself. The beast was falling. Dragonfire reserves depleted and whatever he had drowned out by the green dragon. Bathing Drogon's wings with the furious fire - keeping the Black Dread Reborn from righting himself. Talons scraped and dug… always shallow, answered strongly but weakly by Drogon. Euron lashed out with his blade when able… and he was rarely able to.

'_Muna! Kepa! Please finish me!'_ begged the real Drogon, smothered by the blood magic. Let me die!'

_'Fuck that, brother. We're saving you!'_ Rhaegal punctuated his reply with his tail, large appendage whipping around to smash into Drogon's wing, ending an attempted wingbeat.

Every painful blow that was dealt upon Drogon made Daenerys cringe. Pain stabbing through her from their shared bond, but she refused to let up. "Faster Jon! Faster!" She dug her fingers tightly around his waist, holding on for dear life as the Targaryen King urged Rhaegal on. Pressing them ever downward to end the reign of the last Drowned King.

A particularly deep gash dug into Rhaegal's side, causing the dragon to screech in agony. This doubled Jon over in pain, hurting his concentration. "Shit!"

Euron redoubled his efforts. "Take him!" Head whipping around, the monster controlling Drogon sent the open jaws straight for the two Targaryens. Teeth sharp and ready to finish what the traitorous brothers of the Night's Watch started."

"Noooooo!" Dark Sister left it's scabbard in a split second. Valyrian steel glinting in the sun as it slashed across Drogon's snout. A roar of pain, enchanted steel of Old Valyria especially potent where others would just bounce off. Flashing amber for just a moment, the real Drogon forced the monster back - in time for Rhaegal to recover and bash his head into Drogon's neck. Wingbeats thundering both of them closer and closer to the ground.

Through some freak of magic, the connections swirled together so that Euron could hear Jon and Daenerys - and they him. _'You are doomed, dragonspawn!'_

_'I don't think so, monster,'_ Jon thundered back.

_'Your dragons are mine. Your world is mine. Everything is mine!'_

Daenerys smirked evilly, seeing everything upon the ground. Exactly where Jon set Rheagal's course to. _'Only a dragonblood can handle the blood magic, Greyjoy!'_

A frenzy of screams from the Ironborn. _'Lies!'_

_'The truth.'_ Jostled by Rhaegar's fury, Dany nevertheless sliced her palm with the tip of Dark Sister. Letting her blood coat it.

_"Only the blood of the true bond can break the curse."_

The Red Keep below ballooned in size as the dragons approached. _'Truth is, Euron, you lost the minute you killed your brother.'_

The command thundered from the throats of both Targaryens._ "DRACARYS!"_ In one fluid motion Rhaegal extended his wings, let go of his grip on his brother, and shot a massive gout of flame directly at Drogon's stomach. Close enough to nearly explode, sending the possessed, roaring beast crashing into the roof of the Throne Room. All but obliterating it.

Everyone was thrown around the room from the massive crash, ceiling caving in - annihilating the frescoes and mosaics that whitewashed the history of House Targaryen. Euron flying off Drogon's back till he tumbled, bruised and scraped, at the foot of the Iron Throne itself. The black dragon stunned near the doorway, wings bent to just the point of breaking, growls and hoots of pain filling the air.

Rhaegal roared, flapping down until his great bulk demolished much of the northern wall. Lowering his shoulder till the two Targaryens scrambled off. Jon dashed towards the throne, Blackfyre and Longclaw drawn as he set upon the recovered Euron. His own short blade out as they began to clash.

Dark Sister covered in her blood, Daenerys raced toward Dragon - eyes fluttering open. Still a blood red of blood magic. She had to act fast. _"Iā zaldrīzes iksis daor buzdari!"_ Valyrian screamed out, she plunged the sword shallowly into his neck, praying to the Old Gods and the New that it would work…

Jaws opening to attack, suddenly Drogon began to shudder. Roaring louder than he had ever done before, a wave slamming Dany onto the ground ass first, as if a malevolent force was driven out of the entire throne room. Wincing in pain, groaning as her muscles ached, Daenerys didn't know how much time passed before she felt a gentle nudging against her side. Eyes flying open, she found herself staring into a single amber eye. Warm with love. "Drogon!" Child brought back to her, Dany hugged his snout, letting him help her up. "My darling, you're back." A gentle purr left the dragon's closed jaw, all right in the world after so long.

Punching Arya aside, the Mountain staggered, arms wrapped around Sandor as he dropped his sword. The scarred warrior going purple in the face as the life was choked out of him - staring into the red eyes of the monster that Gregor Clegane always was. But suddenly Bronn, swung his sword, cleaving Gregor's arm off. Giving the Hound just the time needed to grab his blade and slam it into Gregor's chest. "Fuck you!" With a kick he sent the behemoth sprawling… right into the path of Drogon's massive talons. In an instant, the great claws slammed down upon the Mountain that Rode. Splattering the black ooze that was his blood everywhere across the Throne Room.

Blows angry, frenzied, Euron nevertheless couldn't match Jon. The strength of his attacks more than countered by the skill of the greatest swordsman of Westeros. Blocking a thrust with his own parry, Jon brought Longclaw down and snapped the short sword in two. Blackfyre angling up to slice both of Euron's arms clean off. The Ironborn collapsing to his knees, Blackfyre and Longclaw crossed at his throat.

The cold touch of crossed steel against his neck… the hot pain of his hands clicked clean off by the Valyrian blades forced a spark of clarity into Euron's mind. Knowing he was defeated, vanquished, the sea-green eyes nevertheless raged with defiance. "Finish it…" he hissed at Jon. "Finish me you dragonspawn motherfucker!"

Anger pulsing inside of him - every urge of Jon's to comply and end this monster's life - a harsh growl behind him made Jon relent. Drawing back his swords and casting a dark smirk about Euron. "My worthless uncle once spoke of 'Waking the Dragon.' He had no idea what it truly meant, but I do." He drew back, the massive heads of Rhaegal and the now freed Drogon snaking in to take his place. Two glowing pairs of amber blazing. "And now, you will too. Boys, dinner!"

Rhaegal darted in first, snout toppling Euron onto the floor. Jaw closing down on his feet and teeth sinking through flesh and bone. The Ironborn screamed, blood pouring from the wounds as Rhaegal jerked him through the air… screams ceasing in a gurgling mess, Drogon clamping his own teeth through his shoulder. With a simple tug, the dragon brothers ripped him apart, unceremoniously ending the reign of the last Drowned King with the sizzling dragonfire cooking the two chunks of meat and bone to a charred goodness.

"I definitely chose the winning side," Bronn quipped, sitting against a column from exhaustion.

Pitching their heads back to swallow the blackened flesh, Drogon and Rhaegal let out twin roars. Shattering glass, rocking stone, and thundering against eardrums. Booming across the entire city, mixing with the incessant ringing of every bell still operational as the Targaryen Army approached. As the roars died out, proclaiming the return of House Targaryen to the seat of power, the bells still rang. _Clang, clang! Clang, clang! Clang, clang!_ A single sound of peace and calm even with the fires raging.

Watching with a smug satisfaction to see Euron Greyjoy's sundered remains disappear down the gullets of both of her children, Daenerys saw Jon's eyes suddenly widen as Arya screamed. "Daenerys!" Without warning she was yanked back, gloved hand clasped over her mouth and something sharp poking through the joins in her armor… right on her swelling stomach. _The babies!_

"'Younger and more beautiful…'" whispered the syrupy sweet voice of Cersei Lannister - glazing over all the rage and bitterness anyone could hold. Green eyes the pallor of wildfire, flashing with a darkness more reminiscent of the Mad King than anything Daenerys could ever be. "'To cast me down and take all that I hold dear.'" Her hot breath was like acid against Dany's ear.

The Queen's heart thudded in her chest, face paling. Surrounding her, Jon's dual swords and Arya's Needle were on full alert, but both wolves stared with fearful… terrified eyes. Especially as the knife poked into skin. Drawing blood.

"They said you would take me down, whore," Cersei spat. "They said the Bells would destroy me. Robert's ghost from the grave ripping all that I bled for… well you fat fuck. You dragon bitch. If I am to die, I'll end your wretched line right here, right now." Daenerys screamed into the glove as Cersei pulled back the knife. Ready to plunge it into her womb and kill the innocent babies growing within much like the Freys had done to Talisa. Both Jon and Arya surged forward, but there was no way they or their swords could get there in time…

But instead of the cold, painful stab of the blade into her womb, Daenerys only felt the quick pull of Jon's hands. The warm, protective embrace of her King drawing her behind him and away from any danger. Finally safe to glance back, the roaring dragon within found itself sated by the scene before her.

Blood dripping from his wound, Jaime used his last gasp of anger to surge at Cersei. Pulling her to the ground with a scream from her throat. His stump felt like ice stabbing through it as it slammed into Cersei's gut, stilling her violent thrashing for Jaime's hand to wrap around her neck. "Jaime!" Cersei croaked. "Stop…"

He didn't stop. Grip only tightening on her thin, creamy throat. One he had loved to lick and suck and kiss… Rage burning in his gut, the Kingslayer just channelled it into his fingers. Voice as soft and gentle as Cersei had once been. "Let go, sister… just let go." She croaked, she whimpered, she gasped in pain as her lungs fought to suck whatever air it could from her constricted throat. Skin going blue from asphyxiation.

"Jaime…"

"Please, just let go, Cersei. Go be with father and Myrcella and Tommen…" The flopping of her limbs, the frantic gasps of air. All began to cease. Pupils blowing as the serenity of death overcame Cersei Lannister. Wariness in his expression, a tear in his eyes, Jaime Lannister bade farewell to his twin with a single kiss upon her forehead. Slowly closing her pupils and pushing himself to kneel before Daenerys and Jon. "The usurper is dead, your Graces."

Both nodding, lips pursed in a hard line, their expressions softened and pulled each other into a tight embrace. "The babies?" Jon asked simply.

As if on cue, a prolonged flutter emerged in her womb. "They love you, Jon." Dany smiled, leaning up to kiss him. "So do I."

"I love you, too." Jon resumed the kiss, letting it deepen.

"Achem!" Both broke apart and turned to see Arya, shaking her head. "Much as I would rather ignore your disgusting display," there was a good natured teasing in her tone. "I must point out that…" She gestured to the massive chair still undisturbed by the near destruction of the throne room. "The Iron Throne is yours, your Graces."

Eyes boring in on the symbol of the wheel Aegon the Conqueror had forged out of the chaos that were the Sunset Kingdoms of Westeros, Jon and Daenerys merely turned back to each other and reconnected their lips. Her hands wrapped around his neck and his hands splayed on her armored stomach.

Both knowing what truly mattered.

**A/N: And everything came to full circle.**

**Hope everyone liked the fighting and the deaths. Let me know :)**

**Next up, the epilogue.**


	20. Ch 20: A Dragon's Dawn

**A/N: And here we are. The first of my GoT stories to finish. I'll say, it's been quite a ride.**

**I just want to say thank you to all my faithful readers for their kind words and awesome comments. You guys rock!**

**Also, just want to give a shoutout to some new GoT stories that I think are awesome: one's called From the Ashes Begin Anew by bykim0120 - it's an alternate telling of Aegon's Conquest; another is called Wolves of War by my good friend GulfYankee23 that's a post season 8 ressurection/reconciliation fic; one is a unique spin on the post-season 8 time travel to fix the past plotline (hint, it isn't Jon or Dany going back) called Howl of the Dragonwolves by my other good friend ****Elphaba818; and the other is a season 8 fix-it called The Kingdom of Ice and Fire by my other good friend WhiteWolf04, starts off slow but I have assurances the plot will be awesome.**** All are really, really good! Check them out :D**

**Enjoy and review!**

Chapter 20: A Dragon's Dawn

"Honestly, I don't know which was worse. The smell of shit or the smell of ashes."

Arya raised an eyebrow at her older sister, crossing her arms. "You mean the starving people or dead people?"

Sansa sighed. "You do have a point there." It had been nearly a third of a moonturn before the ash that coated the air of the devastated capitol had finally settled, a rush of temperate weather from the center of the continent bringing a reprieve from the worst winter in history. Already crews of volunteer laborers and the various bannermen were moving to cart away the ash to the farms of the Crownlands for fertilizer. Maesters stated that spring would be returning with a vengeance quite soon and master builders hoping to ease the destruction before the seasonal spring rains from Shipbreaker Bay arrived. Then, the remaining ash would wash much of it away into Blackwater Bay rather than create massive floods.

"Still, it's a shame we have to be back here rather than stay in Dragonstone." Arya had nothing but horrible memories here, while Dragonstone contained recent joy of finally getting to know Daenerys - the embodiment of her hero Visenya Targaryen - feeling her niece and nephew's first movements, and riding atop Jon's dragon. Memories she would never forget. "At least I won't be alone in my misery."

Both Stark sisters smirked at the discomfort of the other Lords and Ladies hunkered in the crumbling Dragonpit, filled with the detritus of thousands of refugees. It was especially comical to watch pompous blowhards like Paxter Redwyne or their own cousin Robyn Arryn look apoplectic at their fine doublets or armor become stained by the mud and soot.

Eventually, the Unsullied standing guard allowed the dignitaries onto the raised dias in the center of the pit. Assembled in the same style as the infamous meeting here almost a full six moonturns before - _Gods, is that all the time that has passed?_ \- the Lords and Ladies took their seats corresponding to their geographic station. "Where are their Graces?" asked the aging Lord Anders Yronwood of Dorne. Not a marital man even in his youth, he had stayed behind while Arianne and Edric led the Dornish relief army to the Dusken.

"They will be here momentarily, my Lord," Davos stated, seated next to the two gold inlaid mobile thrones.

"You said they would be here by now." Glaring at Lord Royce, Robyn Arryn may have grown into a dashing young man, but he retained the impulsive arrogance of his childhood. Sansa shared a knowing look with Arya… then with Davos. They would have to coordinate significantly with Lord Royce to find a suitable, loyal wife to rein him in and manage the Vale.

"I assure you, Lord Arryn," Davos explained gently, as if he was talking to his young boys. "They will be here. Have patience."

This only drew Robyn's ire. "You Flea Bottom nobody," he spat. "You don't get to talk to the Lord of the Eyrie in that way…"

"Cousin," Arya barked. "Shut the fuck up and wait." Sansa bit back a laugh, while the Dornish and other Northerners didn't share such niceties. Even Lord Royce looked amused as Robyn crossed his arms and sulked in his chair… nevertheless, he obeyed Arya's directive.

An ear-splitting roar echoed over the Dragonpit. Heads angled up as two massive shapes shot overhead. The Green and Black dragons of the Targaryen monarchs banking around, wings flapping madly to slow down. Many of the newly arrived Lords stared in awe - the first time they had even seen the great beasts everyone in Westeros had spoken of for years at this point. With a rumbling crash they landed upon the walls, scrambling down and lowering their shoulders. Clad in Valyrian style armor, King Aegon and Queen Daenerys made their way to the dias hand in hand. Contravening standard protocol, but who was going to stop them.

_Targaryens answer to neither gods nor men._ Arya, Sansa, Davos, and the other close loyalists grinned at how the two were asserting their strength by merely showing their adoration for each other.

Davos was immediately out of his seat. "My King. My Queen."

Sansa and Arya followed, mirroring the Hand by bending the knee. "My King. My Queen."

Missandei and Grey Worm. "My King. My Queen."

Yara Greyjoy. "My King. My Queen."

Soon, all of them - even the once undecided Lords after seeing Drogon and Rhaegal up close - had bent the knee. "My Queen," Jon whispered hotly into Daenerys' ear, tongue darting out quickly to lick the shell.

Daenerys felt both satisfaction at seeing all of Westeros finally bend the knee to her and Jon and a tingling arousal pooling in her core from Jon's subtle flirting. _I am going to rip that armor off him the second we're alone._ "Later, my King," she whispered back, voice dripping with seduction. The grey eyes that made her melt twinkled, but the Targaryen dragonlord inside him took over and he took his seat. Dany taking hers right next to him, putting their masks on. "Honored Lords and Ladies, you may be seated and thank you for making the journey."

"It's not like we had a choice," grumbled Lord Arryn, only for another glare from Arya to shut him up again.

Lord Royce was far more politic. "Forgive my Liege Lord, your Grace. He hasn't gotten over the fact that the man he thought of as a second father murdered both of his parents." Daenerys had never met Petyr Baelish, but she was sure Drogon would have found him a tasty snack. "We would always choose the King and Queen that saved all of us during the Long Night."

"Thank you, Lord Royce." Jon looked at all of the Lords. "When I was of a different name, I called a meeting of all the Lords of the North, Vale, and True North. I had no claim to anything with the name I had, yet after I laid down the threat facing us, all the Lords proclaimed me King of the North, as well as their fealty in perpetuity. I asked not that they do it, nor did I compel them to. Neither do my wife, the Queen, and I do so today."

"And yet you did kill Lord Glover, did you not?" asked Lord Redwyne. "He refused to swear fealty again once your true identity as Aegon Targaryen was revealed and you had him executed by the blood eagle."

"Lord Glover plotted with Lord Varys to kill his wife and unborn child, Lord Redwyne," Sansa shot back. "He was a traitor and an attempted childslayer either way. Under the Laws of Westeros, his Grace had every right." Meeting eyes with Daenerys, the Queen offered a thankful look.

Daenerys cleared her throat, rising. "You have bent the knee to my husband and I, and we have claimed my family's ancestral home by right of conquest and honor. But the brave Unsullied of Astapor follow me because they so choose." Grey Worm nodded. "The freedmen of the Bay of Dragons follow me because they so choose." Missandei smiled softly. "The Dothraki follow me because they so choose to follow the woman that would raise them above what they were before. And so too will my husband and I allow you to choose."

There was silence. "What we promise is different than what you know," Jon stated, filling the void. "A world actually better than the shit one we've all known, but not just for us. For all the inhabitants of our kingdoms. You have your choice. You may go back to your castles and holdfasts and live as you've always lived on your own. Or you may join us, and actually build something worth giving to your heirs." Neither him nor Dany were keen on letting any of them go independent, but if they were to build a new world for their babes to rule, then practicing what they preached was vital.

The dias was filled with hushed whispers and brooding murmurs, each Lord or Lady discussing what had just transpired. Into the mix, Tyrion pushed himself out of his chair. Waddling forward to the center of the dias. "There was a time where petty Kings ruled over this land. War, strife, famine… frankly, even when there were only seven kingdoms it wasn't too good of a time. Why have power when all you could use it for is to keep death at bay for a mere day at a time?" He had a point. "The era of House Targaryen had strife but Westeros prospered, and I have no doubt that their Graces will seek to build a new dawn. The same dawn they delivered for us." He looked each of the Lords and Ladies in the eye. "Perhaps who should rule over us is the one with the best story. Who better than the Lightbringer and the Mother of Dragons?" He gestured to Jon and Daenerys. "A man thought a bastard but actually a hidden prince. A long-lost princess that crawled from effective slavery to conquer half the known world. Who came together despite all odds to find each other and defeat monsters thought merely myths. Damn… if they had done even half the things they did, I would choose them all the same."

"Long may they reign," stated Missandei, bending the knee again. Once more, she was joined by all the other Lords and Ladies.

The second Targaryen Dynasty was born.

* * *

Fisting the silk sheets and plush furs hastily tossed aside a mere ten minutes before, Daenerys' eyes fluttered at the intense pleasure she was feeling. A pleasant warmth coursing through her interrupted by sudden spasms of intensity. "Don't stop, my King…"

Tongue slowly swiping through the soaked velvet of the Dragon Queen's folds, Jon felt the thrill go through him at her words. Referring to his true name, his royalty, their shared blood… gods damn him it did something to him. He tossed her legs atop his shoulders, lifting Daenerys high to a far better angle to devour his dragon. Growling into Dany's cunt, tongue plunging as deep as he could inside of her.

"Ahhhh!" Daenerys screamed, echoes resounding off the black walls of their now shared quarters on Dragonstone - long making up for the lost time of his stay here. Having christened every room of their chambers, every piece of furniture, and every wall. Her sexy husband couldn't get enough of her and Daenerys wasn't minding in the slightest. "Fuck! Yes, Aegon… yes!" The babes made her insatiable. Luckily, Jon was there to satiate all her cravings.

Replacing his tongue with his fingers, Jon sucked in a breath. "Please, Daenerys.," he rasped in his northern brogue. "Come for me my Queen." Three digits curled deep inside her, hitting the spot he knew made her spew dragonfire. "I need to taste all of you." Without further warning he latched to her bud. Tongue lashing against it with frantic speed.

Unable to stand it any longer, Daenerys' hands released the fabric. Weaving into the raven curls of her beloved Targaryen husband and King. Holding him to her clit as she impaled herself onto his fingers. "NEPHEW!" she screamed the delicious taboo. Voice so loud that the very rafters shook. That in the distance Drogon roared… "Nephew! Aegon! Yes! I'm coming for you, nephew…!"

A delighted groan tumbled from Jon's lips as she shattered around his fingers. Digits continuing to curl, drawing out her orgasm and make her quiver above him on their massive bed. Eventually he couldn't take it anymore - yanking his fingers out and replacing it with his lips and tongue. Lapping up everything that she gave him. Not stopping till her jerking motions ceased and nothing but breathless pants left her mouth. Sitting up on his knees, Jon licked his cum soaked fingers, all in view of her glassy violet eyes. "Delicious."

Dany swore she came again watching his grinning, beautiful lips smack up her from the digits. Barely able to move from the exhausting orgasm or the seven moon pregnant belly swollen with their babes, she limply gestured to him with her hands. "Come here. You're too far away."

_As if I could resist._ With her flushed skin and silver hair splayed like a halo on their pillows, Jon would have unquestioningly obeyed Daenerys had she asked him to personally sharpen every sword in the Dragonstone armory. Without fuss, he crawled till he nestled beside her - pulling the Queen of Westeros to his side. "I love you," he whispered with pure sincerity.

Her heart caught a little at the emotion in his voice. "I love you too." Leaning over with not a little difficulty to kiss the scar resting above his heart - she made sure to do it at least once a day - Daenerys cuddled happily into his chest. "Did you have to do that? We were working." Dany's giggle belied the fact she wasn't truly irritated at him.

"Part of my Kingly duties is pleasing my Queen," was the smug reply. A tone that would have gotten the old Jon Snow in trouble but one that Aegon Targaryen was dipping into more and more.

From the smile on Dany's face, she loved it. "Mmmm, and you've done an amazing job at that, your Grace."

With the coronation at the Dragonpit behind them and King's Landing still a smoking wreck, 'Court' was being held at Dragonstone for the time being. Shortages of everything after consistent fighting and dying over the last several years rather problematic, Davos, Missandei, Sansa, and Tyrion were running things while the monarchs were allowed three weeks of a belated wedding gift on their ancestral home with a skeleton crew to tend to their needs. Fundamentally, that meant days spent together - talking, reading, riding their dragons, exploring… and plenty of lovemaking. Dany felt she'd be walking strangely for a moonturn once the actual court arrived from the mainland.

However, the lack of supervising didn't keep them from making plans. Stacks of parchment strewn all around their chambers and solar, each detailing different ideas and projects they hoped to engage in once the chaos of the various wars settled down. Chief among them, what they found within the 'hidden chamber.' A discovery that made Jon break down in tears upon finding it.

The hidden domain of Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and his beloved bride, Lyanna Stark.

Glancing up at her beloved, Daenerys found him in his most common pastime - brooding. "What's on your mind, my love?" Gently, she began to stroke the hard planes of his chest. Hoping his expression would soften.

True to form, Jon sighed. Releasing some of his brooding tension. "It didn't have to be like this."

Her brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Jon's mind kept going over the inventory of what they had found. Rhaegar's sets of armor, the very metal plates and shield of the Knight of the Laughing Tree worn by his mother at the infamous Harrenhal tourney, diaries written by both, sketches, designs, glittering Valyrian Steel trinkets seeming to date far past the Doom of Valyria… all reminding him of the past. Of something that was destined to have passed if not for the perfidy of the earthly machinations of man.

"They loved each other, Dany. My parents… Rhaegar wanted Lyanna to be his Queen."

Nodding, finally understanding, Dany cuddled ever closer to him. Wanting to hug him so tightly that they could never be separated. "We would have grown up together." The thought brought sadness to her as well. "Thinking about our family, Rhaegar likely would have betrothed us…"

"He explicitly said such." Her attention fully on him, Jon continued. "I saw it in one of the diaries Jaime saved." _Jaime fucking Lannister, keeping the secret all this time._ He wouldn't have believed it had he not seen it for himself, and it eased his worries about naming him Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West. "He had a dream, showing him he was to have a boy with my mother rather than a girl."

"I'm rather glad you turned out a boy, my King." She punctuated her statement by curling her fingers around his length.

Grinning down at Dany, Jon was grateful at her attempt to lighten the mood. "I love you." They shared a kiss before he continued. "When learning about your mother's pregnancy, he wrote that it seemed a sign from the gods. Hoping that he would have a younger sister to betroth me to. 'Four young dragons to bring our family back from the brink,' as he wrote."

"Even when he was but a child, he dismissed Viserys as not a true dragon. Had I not been a scared girl I probably would have seen it sooner." But Daenerys didn't want to think about Viserys… nor the alternate timeline of she growing up with Jon. Falling in love with him without the backdrop of war and death. Getting married with their entire family watching, peacefully ruling by his side… "If we look back we are lost."

Sad smile curling on his lips, Jon leaned down to kiss the crown of her head. Inhaling the wonderful scent of her hair. "Aye. We can only look forward." A hand came to rest over her stomach, while his gaze shifted to the crackling fire in their large hearth - one her gaze found rather quickly. "I think those were the biggest surprise of all."

Resting within the flames were five dragon eggs. All a mix of swirling colors dotting the scaled surfaces. Each calling to them, bonding closely to them. They had been just as ossified as Dany's first three eggs, but upon discovery the same feeling that she had to Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion upon the Dothraki Sea so long ago had returned. Feelings she shared with not just Jon, but with the babes in her belly. "The return of House Targaryen. Restored to glory."

Jon chuckled. "The Realm barely survived three dragons, let alone seven." He looked back to her. "But ours won't bring destruction."

She gazed into his eyes. "Raised by us, their siblings riding them… we will build a new world." Effortlessly, she straddled him, hands splayed on his chest. "You and me, Aegon. Together." Feeling him already hard and waiting for her, Daenerys didn't waste any time taking the engorged length in her hand and guiding it to her entrance.

A groan left his lips as Dany sheathed him inside her. The warm promise of a happy future mixing with the scorching lust they felt for each other. Hands going to her hips. Holding her firmly while she impaled herself over and over onto him. "Break the wheel… together."

"Together… always together…" Dany's hair went every which way in a wild mop as the lust overcame her. "Oh, Aegon…" They wouldn't be leaving the bedchamber anytime soon.

* * *

"You must push, your Grace."

"I can't… I can't do it."

"Dany, you can." Jon held her hand beside her on the birthing bed. Only ten hours before they had been in a Small Council meeting at the painted table, but suddenly Dany's water had broken and was rushed to her chambers. It was agonizing for him, watching the most important person in the world to him in such pain - and yet Jon had not left her side for one moment. Him being the only person other than Missandei that Daenerys wanted to comfort her. "You are strong. So very strong."

The maester of Dragonstone was ready to deliver the baby. "Push, your Grace. Push." More screams, ones that were like a dagger to Jon's heart.

As Dany's scream petered out, both monarchs heard the most beautiful sound they had ever yet witnessed. A shrill cry. A babe - their babe - taking their first breath. "Congratulations your Graces," the maester announced. "A healthy prince."

Almost numb, Jon saw the tiny little human crying his lungs out in the Maester's arms. An assistant cutting the cord before Missandei and the nursemaids took the Prince away for cleaning. "Jon…" murmured Dany. "I want to see my son. I want to see Aemon."

Aemon. Crown Prince Aemon Targaryen - Dany had names their son after one of the mentors of his life. One of the greatest men he ever knew… his numbness broke as tears welled in his eyes.

Suddenly, Dany groaned again in pain. Jon's wide eyes finding hers. "Your Grace, the second babe is on their way," the maester said calmly. "Please relax and wait to push."

"Jon…" Dany murmured before crying out as a contraction spasmed through her.

Glancing back to where his son was, Missandei gestured to Daenerys. "Go, I've got him."

Jon was by his wife's side instantaneously. Clutching her hand in his, he kissed her forehead. "I'm here, my dragon. I'm here."

Sweat covered Dany, silver hair matted to the sheen covering her forehead. "If I… don't make it…"

"Don't say that," he almost hissed.

But she was insistent. "Please… take care of Aemon and our daughter… promise me, Jon."

"You're going to live." If any King could make it done from sheer force of will, it was Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name.

"You're ready, your Grace. Push." Squeezing his hand tightly, Daenerys screamed. Pushing with all her might. "The babe is crowning, push again." Her scream shook the walls of Dragonstone, far different from the pleasurable ones she had done plenty of times before…

Only to be replaced by another wail. "A beautiful Princess, your Graces," the maester beamed, handing another tiny bundle to the nursemaids.

Taking a strip of cloth, Jon wiped Dany's forehead. "Our daughter is here, Dany. Our son and daughter." It didn't seem real to him, but Jon knew it to be true.

Face flushed and voice hoarse, Daenerys looked to Jon. "Bring… bring me my babes."

As if on cue, Missandei arrived with little Aemon tucked into her arms. Handing him gingerly to Jon. He was a perfect bundle of joy - wisps of silver hair and bright violet eyes staring up at whomever was holding him. "Our son, Dany," an awed Jon whispered. "He's a strong Valyrian Prince."

"My babe…" Dany burst into tears as Jon left Aemon on her chest. Arms wrapping around him to hold him close. "My sweet little boy. _Muna_ is here for you." She peppered his face with kisses. Watched by the smiling Jon… all they needed was their daughter and the family would be whole.

Wiped clean by the nursemaids, Missandei took the pink child - unable not to tickle her nose with a wide smile - and handed her to the King. Jon happily cuddled his daughter, overjoyed to the point of tears at the tufts of Dany's silver hair on her head. "My little one," he cooed, kissing her cheek. Snuggling her tight against his chest. "Little Daena." Princess Daena Targaryen's eyes fluttered open tiredly, revealing a milky grey staring up at her crying father. _"Kepa_ loves you so."

Even with Aemon tucked securely in the crook of her left arm, Daenerys felt incomplete without her daughter. "Jon…" she whimpered desperately, free hand reaching out frantically for the babe. "Give her to me…" Nothing like the mighty conquering Dragon Queen, but these precious darlings were worth far more to her than any throne or crown.

Kissing Daena's forehead once more, Jon was unable to disobey Dany's pleading command. "Here you go. Here's _muna_." Gingerly, he set Daena in the crook of Dany's right arm. Taking a seat right next to them, not wanting to be even mere feet away from his beloved family.

Finding her daughter's grey eyes almost instantly, Daenerys' heart nearly stopped. "My love, she has your eyes." Both of her children tucked tightly against her, Daenerys felt a surge of protectiveness within her. For years, never did she think she would have this. That she would be so lucky to find not only the love of a fellow dragon, but also to hold their children in her arms. Daenerys never got to hold onto her little Rhaego - taken from her in a brutal labor, born so scarred and deformed that Jorah had hid his body from her - but Aemon and Daena, no one would take them from her. _They are mine. Mine and Jon's._

Both Aemon and Daena cooed simultaneously, squirming and shifting to make themselves comfortable. Openly crying at this point - uncaring of who saw their mighty King in this state - Jon leaned forward to envelop his family in a tight hug. _"Ñuha jorrāelagon."_

The fact he spoke their mother tongue - however horrible the accent was - made all the difference to her._ "Ñuha gevie zokla zaldrīzes."_ She waited for him to look at her, moving to press a gentle kiss to his lips. The smile couldn't fall, eyes sparkling as they glanced at each of their babes. _"Issi īlva riñar."_

"Our children." Holding each other tightly, the terrible resolve of the dragons melted into their adoring warmth. Pain and loneliness of their bast long forgotten, giving way towards a future of happiness each had so longed for.

* * *

_Ten years later._

Shadows cast over entire city blocks, the roars and hoots of the flying dragons were routine for the people of King's Landing. While some more skittish or traumatized survivors of Euron Dragonbinder and Mad Queen Cersei's bloodthirsty competition to immolate the capitol still flinched automatically, most went about their business. Not even glancing up - gawking looks easily distinguishing the travelers - whispering a prayer of thanks to various deities for the protection of their great King and Queen.

Scars still existed in King's Landing from the twilight of the Troubled Times, but these were dwarfed by the majesty of the rebuilt capitol city. Large avenues were patrolled by professional silvercloaks. Aqueducts brought fresh water from the hills of the northern Stormlands, joining with the ever expanding sewer system to erase the pervasive stink of shit that once made King's Landing so infamous. Atop Rhaenys' Hill was the renovated Dragonpit, only this time open to the sky so that the mighty Black Dread Reborn and King's Fury could fly free. The Sept of the Dawn, golden as the sun, brought glory back to Visenya's Hill. Whereas the Sept of Baelor was erected by a madman to honor enemies of the crown, the current one was constructed by the mighty Mother of Dragons to celebrate the impossible victory in the Long Night. Commemorating the martyrs, saints, and the Lightbringers themselves alongside the three main faiths of the Targaryen realm - its Weirwood tree had already grown from a sapling to its red leaves nearly poking out over the tops of the building.

Hooting, Rhaegal banked over the Red Keep, Drogon following his brother to present themselves over their mother and father's home. Overlooking a massive parade ground at the base of Aegon's High Hill, extensive renovations had left the structure the glittering jewel of King's Landing. A perfect seat to hold the occupants of the Dragon Throne. Made entirely of dragonglass ore, it formed two seats close together - one for the Targaryen King and the other for his powerful Queen. While the Iron Throne symbolized the Fire and Blood that forged the wheel, the Dragon Throne was a product of the greatness and majesty of Westeros' rebirth. A new dawn, ready to be handed down to a generation finally better off than the one before it.

And said next generation was in the private courtyard of Maegor's Holdfast, practicing his archery. "Damn it!" Grumbled Crown Prince Aemon Targaryen, bow dropping. He cursed again under his breath at the arrow having his several inches to the right of the center.

"Easy does it, lad," grumbled Sandor Clegane, forcing himself to hold patience with the Crown Prince. He got along well with Aemon - not that he'd ever admit it, especially to the damned Lady of Storm's End when she paid the capitol a visit… which she would often now that Ser Davos was retiring and Arya Baratheon was set to take his place as Hand of the King - but the infamous Hound was quick to boredom. _Sometimes I think their Graces order me to teach their children just to irk me._ "No, don't puff out your breaths. Deep in and hold it while you aim."

"If I don't breath, Ser Sandor, then I die," the ten year-old shot back.

The Hound rolled his eyes. "Then stop taking so much damn time to aim… and I'm no ser!"

Smiling innocently at the Kingsguard, Aemon was silent for a moment. "I know."

"Cheeky cunt. Now hit the fucking target!"

Used to his teacher's outbursts at this point, the Crown Prince felt eyes boring in on him from above. Glancing to the battlements of Maegor's Holdfast, there they were. Clad in a black leather cuirass and red breeches was his father, King Aegon VI Targaryen. His hands splayed out on the red stone with a happy smile on his face. Stepping into the place beside him was his mother, Queen Daenerys I Targaryen. The red and black dress of their House colors complimenting her perfectly. Leaning into his father, they looked both the epitome of powerful Targaryen monarchs and the loving parents they were. Smiles on their faces providing the perfect incentive to be the best. _I won't let you down._

Inhaling deeply, Aemon closed one of his eyes. Focusing, blocking out anything but the act of notching the arrow, drawing back the string. Aiming for the target. With a whoosh the bowstring snapped back into place and the arrow flew, impacting dead center. He beamed as those watching clapped their hands. "Good job, kid." The Hound smacked him on the back, staggering Aemon. "You'll be riding dragons and slaughtering motherfuckers before you know it."

"Only enemies of the crown, you know that." Aemon wanted to be known as a powerful warrior, but also as a learned peacemaker - like Daeron the Good or his own namesake… or his parents. Both wore faces of complete pride… only to glance in another direction…

_Thwack._

Another arrow sliced through the middle of Aemon's, splitting it open. All eyes went to the archer, who smiled and took a bow. Wind flying through her silver hair.

"Daena!" Aemon scowled. "Do you have to be a damn showoff?!"

"It's only showing off if I'm better than you, which I am by the way."

About to race off - and her brother right after her - a high-pitched squeal ran headlong into the Crown Prince. "Aemon!" The raven curls of the five year-old Princess Lyarra bounced as she did. "You were great!" She absolutely idolized her older brother, and as Daena raced over to embrace them both as well, it was clear that all three miracle siblings were just as close. The 'Three Heads of the Dragon' as many were fond of calling them. Born of the great Lightbringer and Mother of Dragons. Truly beloved by all.

Watching the scene below with pure adoration, Dany felt Jon pull her closer into his embrace. "What are you thinking about, my Queen?"

"Mmmmmm," she snuggled back against him. When Daenerys was in the arms of her King, husband, and lover, the weight of the Valyrian steel crown upon her head simply disappeared. Only when she flew Drogon did the feeling even come close to matching. "Just about our new child. I hope he or she is as wonderful as our miracles."

Kissing the crook of her neck, Jon watched as three tiny shapes swept into the training yard of the Red Keep. Flapping their wings until they landed onto the shoulders of their bonded future riders. Dragons chirping as the new generation of Targaryens began showering them with pets and attention. How well the children cared for their dragons, Jon couldn't wait till Arya arrived with Nymeria's litter in less than a moonturn. "Three eggs down, two to go… unless you wish to be Alysanne?"

Leaning back to smirk at him, Dany swatted his shoulder. "I don't intend on letting myself die before you, my King." She turned into his arms. Ones that fought and hacked and bled to win them this delirious joy. "This day till the end of my days. You and me."

"Aye, no better." With the Targaryen banners fluttering atop the battlements as they passed, Drogon and Rhaegal roared across the rebuilt city. Begun anew, as was the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms, from the resolve of its King and Queen. A resolve not so terrible, but always mighty.

**THE END**

**A/N: Boom! There we go! **

**We come full circle. The series started with Ned Stark watching his children train in the courtyard, and it ends with Jon and Daenerys watching the same.**

**The goal of the epilogue is to show how I would have ended season 8 if it had been me with ten full episodes. Hope you enjoyed the experience.**

**I love all of you guys and the sincerest thanks to those that stood with me through it all. **

**Be sure to check out all my other stories. I'm still gonna be around :D**

**God Bless**

**Longclaw 1-6**


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